Brink
by Syntyche
Summary: You did not think, when you sent me to the brink.
1. Little Lion Man

**Title:** Brink

**Author:** Syntyche

**Rating:** A strong T. Violence, mild language, gore, disturbing images.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but how I love to play with them. I'm not making any money off of this, but I wish I were because then I would have more time to write and watch Ewan McGregor movies.

**Reviews:** Read, enjoy, and review, please!

**Obi torture with resultant Qui angst**: Heavy. You know I love it.

**Author's Qui-Gon Disclaimer:** I feel so weird. I didn't make him an ass in this fic. And it feels good. lol.

**Synopsis:** You did not think when you pushed me to the brink…

**OoOoOoOoOo**

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**One: Little Lion Man**

They were coming toward them, their lavender gossamer skirts swirling airily about their long, athletic legs. Their faces were set in a determined grimace that did not bode well for their prey, the two men halted at the end of the corridor by thick durasteel doors blocking their entry to the docking bay.

"Obi-Wan!"

His Master's voice was calm but with an undercurrent of firmness: Qui-Gon needed time, enough of it to get them past the sealed doors to where their freedom - a small Council shuttle - waited patiently for them to return.

Obi-Wan Kenobi spun his lightsaber experimentally, enjoying the pulse of adrenaline thrumming through his lithe body, the warm humming of his lightsaber singing in his ears as the glowing blade sliced swiftly through the air, a warning blur of blazing blue.

His visible display of preparation slowed the approaching warriors, giving them what he felt was ample time to retreat or seek a solution other than to attack, but they continued to advance: they had been sent to stop the Jedi in whatever way necessary, and they were the _Absarti_, the elite. Two Jedi against one _Absarti_ would be a fight, but a fight still lost. Two Jedi against the ten _Absarti_ now closing on them would be a mercifully quick death for the JedI, and the women were prepared to cut their guests down without mercy.

The _Absarti_ were female, all of them, hand chosen by their _jesh._ They would not fail him.

Qui-Gon Jinn's large, steady hands flew over the mess of circuitry showing beneath the burnt edges of the panel he had deftly removed from the wall with the help of his own jade lightsaber. Either of the Jedi could easily have rerouted the power needed to force the docking bay doors open, but Qui-Gon had set to the task immediately, leaving Obi-Wan to delay their pursuers as long as possible. It had been an easy choice for the Jedi Master - Qui-Gon chose compassion first and always, and right now they couldn't afford to be compassionate even to the women they had laughed and talked with mere hours before. They had to get the information they'd obtained from the _jesh _back to the Senate.

That left the dirty work to Obi-Wan, whether he wanted it - which he didn't - or not.

The _Absarti_ closed the gap steadily, advancing as one.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon snapped, glancing back at his apprentice, "I need you to distract them!"

"Distract those women?" Obi-Wan looked surprised for a minute, then nodded grimly, powering down his lightsaber and reaching for his belt. "I'm on it, Master," he announced crisply, his fingers flying as he unhooked the belt around his hips. His actions caught Qui-Gon's attention fully and the Jedi Master could see his Padawan's laughing eyes as he realized what Obi-Wan was doing. Battle humor had always clung to Obi-Wan as his natural defense against danger, and Qui-Gon suspected it was easiest way for the young man to distance himself mentally from the violence that was a norm in his young life.

That didn't stop him from sputtering a gasp as Obi-Wan went for the ties on his cream tunic.

"Obi-Wan!"

He caught sight of Obi-Wan's teasing grin - stretched now so wide his dimples were showing - and Qui-Gon shook his head as he covered his amusement with a stern, longsuffering frown.

"What, were you raised by wolves, Obi-Wan?"

"No," Obi-Wan laughed, swinging the belt back around his slim waist easily, reaching again for his lightsaber. "I was raised by _**you**_."


	2. A Choice That Wasn't

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Two: A Choice That Wasn't**

"I think I'll just stay home, thanks."

The definitively spoken words were offered with a tilted grin, an easy humor in the eyes that were both blue and grey; and although right now they only cost him an amused answering smile, it wouldn't be long before the memory of this moment, these scattered handfuls of shared moments, would bring him to his knees as he _remembered_.

For now, though, with their dark future barely brushing the edges of their lives, Qui-Gon Jinn could allow a twitching smile to cross his expression as he folded his arms tightly against his broad chest and shook his head sternly, though he knew his former apprentice could see the happiness shining through his dour façade.

He didn't care. They could use a little levity after Naboo.

And he so enjoyed their mornings together, while Anakin was in class and Obi-Wan stopped by for morning tea. Had Qui-Gon known such gladness could exist for him, he would have spent his entire life waiting for now, for this time. His former Padawan, now a Knight. And Qui-Gon himself Master to the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker, recently from Tatooine and now his Padawan here at the Temple on Coruscant.

"No," Qui-Gon responded resolutely, decision already made for the young man. He gestured Obi-Wan should precede him into the kitchen, and with a wry shake of his head Obi-Wan did so, immediately setting to collecting the familiar kettle and busying himself at the small stove.

"You're going," Qui-Gon added, voice muffled as he dug around in the cooler for the cream.

A serene lift to one corner of Obi-Wan Kenobi's full mouth; the half-smile that got him into trouble more often than not as it didn't always convey the impression the young man perhaps intended. Like now, for instance: Obi-Wan clearly was attempting a sort of innocence that was _**nowhere**_to be found in his current mood.

"I do not believe you have the authority over me any longer to demand anything, let alone that I accompany you into Force knows what horrors are waiting." Obi-Wan's smile grew, became teasing. "In case you've forgotten, gentle Master, I am a rather accomplished Knight now in my own right … " Obi-Wan breathed across his knuckles mock-proudly before brushing them lightly across the front of his chestnut robes, "with several successfully completed missions under my belt. Including our last," he added pointedly.

Qui-Gon's expression, by contrast, grew graver. "Barely. The _Absarti_ were almost too much for you, little one. But I doubt there will be any "horrors" awaiting us on Etruria, Obi-Wan. It's a simple mission to check out reports of warpstone."

"Etruria?" Obi-Wan was guileless. "I was talking about going on leave with you and Anakin. Just having dinner with both of you is horror enough."

Qui-Gon's skeptical eyebrow nearly buried itself in his greying hairline. "Really? It doesn't stop you from coming by for dinner four or five times a week."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I can't cook."

Qui-Gon nodded at the truth of Obi-Wan's statement: he really couldn't. "It's not _**that**_ bad, is it?"

"_**Please**_," Obi-Wan retorted with a roll of his blue-grey eyes. "I'm the only human who can do it!" he mimicked Anakin easily in a high-pitched tone, having heard the young boy's boast a multitude of times. He carefully measured out cream for Qui-Gon's tea as he added snarkily, "'Obi-Wan can't podrace. Obi-Wan's not the Chosen One.'" The Knight grimaced, shaking his head but still grinning. "'Obi-Wan is _**not**_ the only human who can do it!'"

"Oh, my gods," Qui-Gon shook his head in disbelief as he settled himself at the table. "Have you always been this bratty and I just didn't see it, or did this come with your promotion?" He gratefully accepted the steaming mug of tea Obi-Wan handed him, stirring it perfunctorily even though it was, of course, already perfect.

Obi-Wan laughed, gently pushing a spoon through his own tea as he lowered himself gracefully next to his old Master. "Oh, I think you saw it plenty of times, Qui-Gon. In fact, I'm certain of it."

"Really?" Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow, sifting through a memory that of course couldn't recall a single incident. "Name one time," he challenged, and when Obi-Wan's mouth immediately opened, clearly ready to rattle off a laundry list of occasions, Qui-Gon lifted a careless hand, interjecting hastily, "At any rate, that's so far in the past it's barely worth thinking about."

"Really?" Obi-Wan returned, taking a careful sip of steaming liquid and sighing just a little at the simple pleasure. "I only had to go as far back as this morning." He _tsk_ed at Qui-Gon pityingly. "I think you might be getting old, Qui-Gon."

His comment surprised a bark of laughter from the Jedi Master. "You "think"? That's an understatement, Obi-Wan, and you know it." Even as he spoke, he could feel it across his back now, the tight bands of age stiffening, slowing muscles that weren't as swift to react as they had once been. And having a new young, boisterous Padawan certainly wasn't helping.

Obi-Wan leaned over to rest a gentle hand on Qui-Gon's arm, humor now in reserve, the wisdom he had garnered over the years settling at the forefront, and Qui-Gon marveled at this young one, this Obi-Wan Kenobi - not the Chosen One, as Qui-Gon firmly believed his own Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, was - but still important, still _indispensable_ to him.

"That's why this trip is so important," Qui-Gon murmured somberly, but still with a smile. "We're just taking a break. A short one, but a break nonetheless." Regret crowded his lined expression; a man looking back on his life and seeing his shortfalls, wanting to correct them while there was time.

"You and I never did that," he added softly. "We pushed and pushed until we were exhausted." Even now he could see the lines of exhaustion digging into Obi-Wan's young face and his heart twisted, knowing that the Knight was already on the same path that the Council had set Qui-Gon himself on many years ago - to go where sent whenever needed, whatever the cost to self.

"We were always stretched so thin … and there were times it affected our judgment," he finished in barely a whisper. The memory that _**never**_ left him now was before his eyes, as it always was, never too far from _right now_. "You shouldn't have had to face that Sith alone."

Obi-Wan's hand was still on his arm, soothing to the tense muscles straining to keep a white-knuckled grip on his mug.

"Will you never let that go?" he wondered softly. "It is done with, Qui-Gon."

"No," Qui-Gon said shortly, resolve firm in his voice. "I should have been there to protect you. I should have been with you."

"You made your choice," Obi-Wan returned gently. "You chose to protect Anakin. There is no shame in that."

"I owe you more than that," There were unshed tears threatening to make his roughened voice waver, and Qui-Gon didn't like it one bit.

"You can't always be there. You know that. Especially now that I'm up for my own assignments," Obi-wan protested, a little uncomfortable by the new and unfamiliar Qui-Gon who was overly-worried for his safety.

Qui-Gon nodded at the truth of Obi-Wan's statement, but he didn't think the Knight realized that Qui-Gon often used his pull with the Council to get Obi-Wan assigned to his team any time his missions called for more assistance than he and Anakin could provide alone.

"I can so." Qui-Gon gave a small smile. "So, you'll come then?" he asked brightly, striving for a change of mood.

"Come on an assignment that's secretly a vacation with you and Anakin to the backwoods of Force knows where, where we'll be sleeping on the ground and eating food charred over a campfire?" Obi-Wan summed it up mildly, looking - whether for pretend or no - less than enthused about the idea.

"And looking for warpstone," Qui-Gon interjected cheerfully, turning the arm beneath Obi-Wan's hand so he could squeeze Obi-Wan's forearm happily. "Don't forget about that."

"Oh yes, warpstone." Obi-Wan rolled his eyes as he finished his tea and rose, stretching sore muscles. He'd only been freed from the Healer's Wing a few days before - Qui-Gon had been right: the _Absarti_ almost _**had**_ been too much for him to handle alone. "Made entirely from dark energy, blocks the Light. Yes, we wouldn't want to forget that."

Qui-Gon nodded in agreeable satisfaction. "So glad you can come."

Obi-Wan cast him the longsuffering look of the clearly aggrieved, the downtrodden, the _put upon_. It was a look he had perfected through much practice during his apprenticeship to the man next to him.

"And my purpose in joining you is to make up for 'time lost', as it were?"

"Exactly," Qui-Gon nodded, the warm light of sincerity shining in his eyes - a look that _**he**_ had perfected over the years.

"A good old 'get-to-know-you' kind of time?" Obi-Wan leaned back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, holding on to his humor while quietly wishing that his old Master would just forgive himself and stop fussing over him.

"Mmhm," Qui-Gon agreed. "Just so."

"And not, say, to chase after Anakin while you relax?" Obi-Wan asked suspiciously, a furrow etching deep into his brow.

Qui-Gon spread his arms innocently, still achingly sincere. "Well, he does have a lot of energy, Obi-Wan… " The final twist of the metaphorical blade: "As much as _**you**_ had when you were that age, and I used to chase you around entire _**planets**_ without complaining."

"Are you _**blackmailing**_ me?" Obi-Wan questioned disbelievingly, one light eyebrow quirked as he shook his head ruefully. "You're absolutely _shameless_, Master, I hope you know that."

It was in these small moments, when Anakin mastered a new skill he had been practicing relentlessly, or - like now - when Obi-Wan slipped into old habits and called him "Master" one more time, that Qui-Gon Jinn found he was content, that he could look back on his life and realize that he had done all he could, and that he had done the best he could; and if he joined the Force this very day he would have no reason to mourn a life unlived, no lasting compunction to pull him back.

Except that one tiny regret. That one time he _should have been there._

"Shameless, or correct, little one?" he asked innocently, trying to hide the obvious way his eyes tracked to the deeply furrowed scar that carved across Obi-Wan's neck and disappeared beneath his tunic that wouldn't let him forget that he _**hadn't**_ been there.

Obi-Wan laughed as he turned to the sink to rinse his empty mug before reaching for Qui-Gon's and repeating the process. "Shameless," he clarified.

Qui-Gon's chuckle slipped past the innocence he'd failed at attempting to portray as he too rose, picking up a datapad from the table and handing it Obi-Wan. "Here's what you'll need to know; I'll expect you packed and ready to go by sunrise tomorrow. And I've already cleared it with the Council."

Obi-Wan frowned, shaking his head resignedly. "I should be irritated that you still manipulate my life this way, but I know it's just how you show you care," he murmured just a little too sweetly.

Qui-Gon tousled Obi-Wan's ginger hair warmly; it was short still, barely having a chance to grow out from the cropped cut he'd worn as a senior Padawan. Obi-Wan smiled, leaning into the touch with a small sigh of appreciation. Obi-Wan had always been such a tactile person; it was to the young man's detriment, perhaps, that he'd been drafted into an Order that demanded showing as little emotion as possible. Even Qui-Gon could, in discomfort, admit that he had used Obi-Wan's weakness against him many times in the past during the young man's apprenticeship: a hand on the shoulder withheld, a gentle hug not given, to show his displeasure.

But things were different now. _**He**_ was different. He had learned late, yes, but their final mission together before Obi-Wan's Knighting had opened his eyes. He had chosen poorly, and they had all, in one way or another, paid for it. Qui-Gon was determined not to let it happen again.

His hand dropped from Obi-Wan's hair to the back of the Jedi's neck and he pulled the young man in for a quick, tight hug.

"Please come," he said simply.

Obi-Wan, still not used to the new, more demonstrative Qui-Gon Jinn, nodded slowly.

"Of course I will," he replied.


	3. A Bad Feeling That Just Won't Go Away

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Three: A Bad Feeling That Just Won't Go Away**

"I hate to complain," Obi-Wan Kenobi announced without preamble as he slogged along in viscous muck nearly up to his knees.

Each plodding step made a _schhhhhlip!-_ing sound as the Knight pulled his muddy boots forward with more effort than he wanted to expend on this particular task. "Which you know means I intend to anyway," he continued pointedly, pausing for dramatic effect: "But this was a really stupid idea."

Obi-Wan flicked his slim fingers past his face to swat impatiently at the fat, buzzing insects that evidently had nothing better to eat than succulent young JedI: piece by tiny, agonizing piece. He hadn't been expecting a vacation, true, but if he'd have known they would be struggling through desolately swampy forests that the already hesitant sun couldn't even begin to penetrate, he'd have given more thought than to just giving in to Qui-Gon's wheedling that he come along. Etruria certainly wouldn't be listed in any pleasure brochures anytime soon; if anything, their travel through the grey, claustrophobic swath on their map marked 'Sylvania' was just … creepy.

And eerily quiet. No sounds other than their own reached their ears; no animal noises, no breeze rustling the leaves overhead. Nothing stirred, though Obi-Wan was uneasily certain that faints wisps of white were dancing into the edges of his vision - but when he turned his head, there was nothing other than swarming bugs and unmoving trees.

"Well, complaining _**is**_ something you have a talent for, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon Jinn threw a longsuffering glance over his shoulder at the young man trudging along behind him, Anakin sandwiched protectively between them. "Elevated it to an art form, really," he added thoughtfully, then snarled in disgust when his unbound hair - he'd lost his hair tie to a mass of heartless brambles somewhere back - flopped into his eyes. He pushed it aside roughly and continued forging his way through the dense, muddy underbrush.

Obi-Wan shrugged noncommittally - or tried to. The thick sludge clinging tenaciously to his robe weighted down his normally fluid movements. "I wouldn't call it a talent exactly, Qui-Gon. More like a knack."

Despite himself, Qui-Gon smiled. "Ah. My mistake, little one."

"Are you making short jokes?" Obi-Wan demanded suspiciously, reaching out to swipe a large sleeve through the air near Anakin's head to scatter the congregating mass of buzzing pests flitting there. Anakin wearily lifted his drooping head and tossed him a grateful glance, and Obi-Wan instinctively closed the gap between them to squeeze Anakin's small shoulder encouragingly, knowing that the child still wasn't used to any of this: the constant training and travel, and especially the relentless pace set by the Council that Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon was pushing both himself and Anakin to follow because his old Master was - whether he would admit it or no - deeply concerned that the Council members still watched them ruthlessly, just waiting for the chance to prove that Anakin _**wasn't**_ the Chosen One.

Another legacy from Naboo they were struggling to overcome.

"Not at all," Qui-Gon was responding easily, and Obi-Wan brought his attention back to his old master, trying to brush aside the sadness that persisted in clinging to him as he thought about how they all had changed; despite his wishing that Qui-Gon would just let it go, even Obi-Wan himself still found he was continually thinking back to that day: that horrible, horrible day.

"Just remembering when you were small," Qui-Gon added, "and I used to change your little - "

"All right, all _**right**_," Obi-Wan interrupted wryly, forcing a laugh to chase away his grim thoughts. "You win. _**Please**_ try not to make me look bad in front of Anakin." He smiled again at the exhausted boy, wishing he could bolster Anakin's spirits but also knowing the child may as well grow accustomed to the fact that things were _**never**_ as easy as they were supposed to be. At least, not where his new master was concerned. Anakin smiled back at him.

"Why?" Qui-Gon questioned teasingly. "Padawan envy?"

Obi-Wan shook his head warningly. "Don't make me wish I had my old, grumpy master back; you're treading on thin ice here, Qui-Gon."

Ahead of him, Obi-Wan just caught Anakin's small, heaved sigh. "Are we there yet?" Qui-Gon's Padawan asked unhappily.

Qui-Gon glanced ahead. No sign of clearing penetrated the overgrowth ahead and he had to resist the urge to check their map. He was fairly certain they were going the right way and Obi-Wan would only rib him if he pulled the map out again. "No."

"Why can't we just camp here then?" Anakin wanted to know.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged uneasy glances. Something about this wood was not _right_, they both felt it.

"No," Qui-Gon said firmly, "it shouldn't be too much longer. It isn't safe to camp in the woods at night."

"Why did we have to leave the ship so far back then?" was the next question, which Obi-Wan fielded.

"Atmospheric distortions," he explained. "Too much instability the closer we get to the warpstone deposits."

"Well, why do we need warpstone?" Anakin persisted.

Another shared glance between the two men. _Because with the possible resurgence of the Sith we can't afford __**not**__ to check the reports; the ability to block the Light isn't something that should fall into the hands of those who would seek to destroy us._

Qui-Gon finally said, "Did you read the mission briefing I gave you on the ship?"

"No," Anakin shrugged. "I was going to, but I wanted to practice with my lightsaber instead." It was a statement that Obi-Wan at his age would have remorsefully uttered with guilt weighing every word; to Anakin, it was simply a fact.

Obi-Wan watched, curiously, to see how his old Master would respond.

"Anakin, while your lightsaber practice is important," Qui-Gon eventually conceded, in his Teaching tone, "when I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it. Part of a Padawan's responsibilities is to be knowledgeable about our assignments so we're ready to serve in any way we can."

"Yes, Qui-Gon," Anakin muttered unrepentantly, "I'm sorry." He waited a heartbeat. "Are we there now?"

"No." Qui-Gon forced a cheerful smile, his good humor sliding away like the mud underneath his caked boots, though he knew Anakin was only asking because he was restless. "But it shouldn't be much longer."

"But I'm _**bored**_," Anakin protested, swatting angrily at the relentless bugs, his pent-up frustration bubbling to the surface. "I thought being a Jedi was _**exciting**_ but we never do _**anything**_ exciting." The boy sounded close to tears as he proclaimed, "I _**thought**_ we gonna have a fun trip, Qui-Gon, just you and me, but, no, it's you and me and Obi-Wan looking for stupid rocks!"

Qui-Gon shot Obi-Wan a glance, this one more perturbed than the last, and though they had had moved beyond the close bond of Master and Padawan, Qui-Gon heard Obi-Wan's sigh in his mind, heard the quiet, _this is why the Council has age restrictions, Qui-Gon - discipline. _

_There are no age restrictions for the Chosen One,_ Qui-Gon tossed back, more harshly than he'd intended - edgy, perhaps, from the sudden flaring of the jealousy Anakin hadn't hidden - and subdued, Obi-Wan settled into a chastised silence, leaving an unwelcome and still new-to-him quiet in Qui-Gon's mind. Perhaps he hadn't realized how much their bond had been a part of his everyday existence.

"I know this isn't what you expected, Anakin," Qui-Gon tried patiently, "and it's not at all what I was hoping for, either; but Obi-Wan and I worked very hard to get the information about where the warpstone was located and we need to follow through on it."

"Well, why couldn't Obi-Wan have gone by himself?" Anakin demanded. "Then _**we **_could have gone on our … our … sa..sabba … "

"Sabbatical," Obi-Wan interjected kindly, and Qui-Gon didn't know how he did it, but somehow, despite the mud spattering his hair and the bug bites peppering his neck, Obi-Wan still exuded a wry calm that Qui-Gon hoped would bridle Anakin's growing discontent. "And I'm still a new Knight, Anakin; this mission could be too dangerous for just me alone." He smiled at Anakin. "I need your help, Ani." His expression grew serious as he leveled a gentle look on the young Padawan. "It is also our responsibility to go where we're sent, Anakin. That's what Masters and Padawans do."

"Then why isn't it _**just**_ me and Qui-Gon?" Anakin wanted to know, sounding unhappy at even voicing the thought but his question didn't surprise Obi-Wan at all; he'd had no trouble picking up on Anakin's possessiveness from the start. And he couldn't blame Anakin - taken from everything familiar and thrust into a spotlight of incredible pressure … no, he couldn't blame the boy at all. The best he could do was:

"Because _**I**_ need your help," he reiterated. He smiled his brilliant smile. "Because I'm still learning."

Anakin returned the smile a little shyly and Qui-Gon gave a sigh a relief, releasing the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Caring for the Chosen One, he was finding, was far more difficult in many ways than tending to a Padawan raised in the ways of the Jedi.

Some of the good humor that had first drawn Qui-Gon's attention to the young boy on Tatooine returned to Anakin's mood and his small features creased into a smile. "I _**guess**_ we could help you out, Obi-Wan," he grinned a little. "Just for now." The Padawan's smile almost immediately became a grimace as the mud they continued to forge through tried to pull the boot right off his foot. "But are we there yet?"

"No," Qui-Gon replied, struggling to force some cheer into his voice. He continued slogging on through the thick underbrush, brushing brambles from his hair. The clearing _**should**_ be ahead shortly, though; it _**had**_ to be … He wanted to roll his eyes, as un-Masterlike as it was. His idyllic camping trip - uh, _mission_ - wasn't turning out quite how he'd envisioned. While he'd known Obi-Wan wasn't thrilled with the idea of eating anything off of a stick, he had at least thought Anakin might enjoy the new experience.

He'd been wrong.

The mental count in his head reached thirty-two before he heard:

"Are we there yet?"

"No." Qui-Gon sighed, risked an optimistic glance at Obi-Wan. "Perhaps you could help out?" he suggested hopefully.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Sure." He paused, waiting a moment, before asking:

"Are we there yet?"

Qui-Gon heaved a resigned exhalation. "I meant, could you help _**me**_ out, not Anakin," he clarified shortly.

"Oh. Of course," Obi-Wan grinned. "Well, next time, specify. Otherwise I just have to guess."

Qui-Gon was contemplating ripping his hair out at the roots when his hopeless gaze noticed a gradual lightening in the distance - a clearing! Finally!

"Just another minute, Anakin, and we can stop for the night," he said cheerfully. "Who's hungry?"

**OoOoOoOo**

Obi-Wan didn't bother trying to hide his disgust as he slid the first crisped, gangly animal from the charred stick in his hand with a scraping, sucking sound, leaving a slimy red smear and bits of entrails behind with two other bubbling carcasses.

"This is really gross, Qui-Gon," he said bluntly, disgust crumpling his features.

"Eeeww, then I don't want any!" Anakin protested unhappily - sporting, Qui-Gon noted to his dismay, a rather Obi-Wan-like furrow. Perhaps they _**were**_ spending too much time with his former apprentice …

"Obi-Wan, please," Qui-Gon said sternly, with a sigh. Obi-Wan looked surprised for a moment, then forced a smile that wobbled around the edges.

"I mean, _mmmm_," he corrected himself exaggeratedly. "I cannot wait to … eat … this," he finished lamely, shooting Qui-Gon an apologetic look.

Qui-Gon dropped his head into his hands. "You're not helping," his muffled voice informed the Knight wearily.

"Well, you're not giving me much to work with," Obi-Wan retorted archly, quirked eyebrow adding to his pointed rejoinder as he waved the dripping mass of meat around, splattering drops of red that sizzled as they hit their small fire. "Look at this sh - "

"All right!" Qui-Gon interrupted hastily. "How about trail rations?"

Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged a noncommittal, halfhearted shrug. "Okay," Anakin agreed, and Obi-Wan gingerly handed the leaking mass of animal back to Qui-Gon.

"Enjoy!" he encouraged warmly.

Qui-Gon couldn't hide a grimace. "I think I'll just go to bed, thank you," he replied, dropping the stick with a wet _plop_ and ducking into their shelter with the barest of sighs.

OoOoOoOo

_He skidded to a halt in the medcenter - oh gods, he was too late! Obi-Wan was too pale, Obi-Wan was __**dead**__ because he'd made the wrong decision, Anakin hadn't needed him at all, he'd had the other Nubian pilots to cover his back but Obi-Wan didn't have __**anyone**__, had __**needed**__ him and he hadn't been there because he'd chosen wrong and now Obi-Wan was dead and it was his fault and he'd lost his Padawan …_

… _because Obi-Wan had needed him and he hadn't been there._

"_Please don't die," he whispered, and he knew that Yoda was watching him disapprovingly because he was so attached to Obi-Wan, but maybe it was just the shimmer of tears in his own eyes that made it look suspiciously like Yoda was crying too … _

_His hands were shaking so hard he could barely lift them through Obi-Wan's saturated hair, soaked with sweat but he could almost see the red staining his fingers, which was silly because the gutted slice through Obi-Wan's back from the Sith's lightsaber had cauterized immediately but he still thought he could see the red, so much red as Obi-Wan's life faded away … _

Qui-Gon's eyes snapped open, his hand automatically reaching to his left, grasping, groping, snatching at the light blanket nearby and the solidly muscled leg beneath it. Only when he felt the warmth beneath his fingers did he release a shaky exhalation, immediately pulling in another breath as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. Under his clutching fingers, Obi-Wan shifted and grumbled something in his sleep but Qui-Gon wasn't quite ready to let go yet.

Obi-Wan hadn't died.

Obi-Wan had lived, even though a piece of Qui-Gon's soul had died that day.

In the dim light of the moon leaking in, Qui-Gon stared at the low ceiling overhead of their small shelter; to his right, Anakin slept soundly, exhausted from the day's trek. To his left, Obi-Wan was curled on his side, shifting restlessly under the duress of Qui-Gon's unfettered disquiet.

"Qui-Gon, go back to sleep," Obi-Wan grumbled sleepily, burrowing deeper into his pillow. "We're all fine."

"I didn't say anything," Qui-Gon protested guiltily, withdrawing his hand, secretly glad to be pulled from his morbid thoughts. The dream - the _memory_ - was still too close to the surface for his thumping heart to calm completely.

"You _**think**_ very loudly," Obi-Wan yawned, accented words almost unintelligible under the sleepy fuzziness of his voice. "Still connected, we are, through our bond," he mumbled, in his most ridiculous imitation of Yoda, and Qui-Gon felt an unwilling smile tugging at his mouth. "Sleep now, you must, before 'are we there yet' becomes tomorrow's most overused phrase," he drifted back into wry Obi-Wan, his eyes already closing as his breathing evened out again. "Just go to sleep, Qui-Gon," he murmured gently. "Stop worrying."

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon retorted, heard Obi-Wan snort a laugh as he settled back to sleep. Finally, Qui-Gon felt his own eyelids growing heavy again, and surrendered gratefully to oblivion.

_As he clutched Obi-Wan's slack arm in the medcenter and waited for the Padawan to awake, Qui-Gon made a promise to both of them:_

"_I will never let you down again," he whispered._

**OoOoOoOo**

The following day, their weary slogging brought them to the outskirts of a small, miserable-looking town.

"This wasn't on the map," Qui-Gon muttered, confused, rummaging around in his pack for said map.

"Who cares, as long as they have showers," Obi-Wan put in cheerfully, but Qui-Gon could see the worry lines that tightened his blue-grey eyes. There was something … odd … about this town, just like the forest. It was too quiet.

Tiny clusters of stone houses grouped forlornly around the town square, their black windows yawning darkness even in the filtered midday sun. Cheerless, bedraggled trees drooped their leafless branches to the ground, skeletal fingers scratching idly against the bare, dry dirt. Despite the warm temperature, there was still the feeling of a chill in the air, disconcerting as it stirred the hair at their necks and sent a ripple down their spines.

"I don't like this," Obi-Wan said suddenly.

Qui-Gon waved his hand airily, smiling for Anakin's benefit; he could sense his young Padawan's unease. "You're always overly cautious, Obi-Wan." It was like this with them: Qui-Gon with the Living Force, Obi-Wan's strength in the Unifying - whose 'feeling' won out when there was a disagreement: Qui-Gon's sense of motives and living in the present, or Obi-Wan's premonitions and "bad feelings." Oftentimes their differences served them well; other times, it had caused many disagreements between the two. Unfortunately for Obi-Wan, it often simply came down to Qui-Gon pulling rank.

Obi-Wan drew Qui-Gon back with a hand on his arm, murmuring lowly, "No, Qui-Gon, I'm serious. I have a bad feeling about this. We should leave _**now**_."

"Hey, look!"

They turned at Anakin's startled exclamation to see the little village had changed: shadowy faces were appearing in the windows; humanoid, pale and thin, expressions curious.

"There, you see," Qui-Gon said pointedly, tone indicating there would be no more dissension from his former Padawan. "It's fine. Perhaps they can point us to the warpstone and we'll be on our way."

"Qui-Gon - "

Qui-Gon shook his head sharply. "Don't scare Anakin," he said quietly, then added for Obi-Wan's ears alone, "But watch our backs."

j


	4. Shades

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Four: Shades …**

Obi-Wan Kenobi concentrated fiercely, sending a strained mental missive to his old Master, who was cheerfully chatting with their new hosts.

_Did I say I have a bad feeling about this? Because if I didn't already, I think you should know that I do. A really, really bad feeling. A let's-please-just-go-home-now kind of bad feeling. _

Obi-Wan paused mid-ramble and glanced hopefully at Qui-Gon, but the older Jedi merely flashed him a wary look and resumed his pleasant conversation.

_An in-deep-trouble-we-are feeling,_ Obi-Wan added, and an irritated expression finally crossed Qui-Gon's face.

_Obi-Wan, we have a job to do._

And that was that. But, Obi-Wan presumed - perhaps unfairly - that it was somewhat easier for Qui-Gon to ignore Obi-Wan's 'bad feelings' since to date none of their adversaries had wanted to send _**Obi-Wan **_a 'message' that involved Qui-Gon as the unfortunate message-bearer. No, that honor - including the pummeling or braid-chopping that was usually the _message_ being sent - was always bestowed upon Qui-Gon's hapless Padawan. And apparently many, many people wanted to send said messages to Qui-Gon; Obi-Wan had gotten quite tired of delivering these _messages_.

_If it were the other way around, I bet he'd listen_, Obi-Wan snarked to himself, the unsettled grouchiness he'd been nursing since their arrival more palatable to grasp on to than the creeping worry that was trying to crawl across his mind and unfetter the gut-roiling panic that was threatening to erupt across his senses. Obi-Wan himself was a little surprised at his level of anxiety, but Qui-Gon had drawn him aside once already, quietly writing Obi-Wan's worry off as their proximity to the warpstone deposits that disrupted - no, _**swallowed**_ - the Light and interrupted their clear communication with the Force.

Obi-Wan wanted to believe him - the locals were proving to be quite friendly - but wasn't that _**always**_ how it started?

Obi-Wan rubbed at his newest scar - the long gouge that started at his neck - and absently finger-combed behind his ear where his thin braid used to rest out of the way. His grey eyes darkened as his already nervous thoughts wandered back to that day, to _**that**_ bad feeling …

"There, there. Just sit yourself down, young one, and stop worrying so much."

"What?" Obi-Wan blinked hazily, the fog lifting away from his thoughts as he reluctantly tore his unseeing gaze from the window, noticing as he pulled away the anxious cluster of faces pressing toward the small stone house. The arrival of the Jedi had caused a modest stir in the homogenized community, and Qui-Gon had graciously accepted for them an invitation to dinner from one of the Council elders. Qui-Gon and Anakin were already seated at a large table heaping with platters of steamed vegetables and roasted meats far more appealing than anything they had eaten lately; Anakin was practically salivating at the display of rich foods, and Obi-Wan had to concede - after Qui-Gon's offerings of stick-dinners and trail rations, the rising scent of hot food was making his mouth water, too.

Their hostess, Elika, was the one who had roused him from his wandering thoughts and she patted his arm now kindly, wispy grey hairs sliding out from the tangle at the nape of her neck to frame her wizened face airily.

"You have the air about you of one who worries too much, young one. You're going to wrinkle that adorable face." And she pinched his cheek and gave his arm a tug, leading him back toward the table. "Sit down and rest. There's nothing to worry about here."

Their host, Elika's husband Makir, smiled tenderly at his wife's bustling, snagging her arm as she hurried past him. "Sit down yourself, my love; the table is set and everything will be cold before you've finished your fussing."

Elika sniffed delicately, properly offended, but obligingly settled herself beside her husband, immediately picking up a laden platter and passing it to Qui-Gon.

"You said it was not simply a holiday that has brought you to Sylvania, Master Jinn?" she inquired politely, not much real curiosity showing in her tone; more so a courteous attempt at small talk as her duties as hostess dictated.

Qui-Gon shook his head as he selected a warm hunk of bread and handed the plate over to Anakin. "Indeed not. We are here to investigate reports of warpstone deposits, which, if our information is correct, are located not far from here."

Makir nodded, apparently pleased by the accuracy of the information Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had obtained. "You are indeed correct. These deposits are well known to us, for as you must know warpstone generates large amounts of energy."

"Among its other uses," Obi-Wan interjected dryly, but was ignored as Makir added,

"You may stay with us tonight, and in the morning Elika will guide you to the Falls, where you will be able to collect any readings and samples you need. It has been long since those of the Light came here, but our small town often plays host to others seeking warpstone."

Obi-Wan's concerned eyes met Qui-Gon's as he shifted forward in his chair, questioning cautiously, "'Often,' you say?"

"Do you know if any of those seeking the warpstone recently have been Dark?" Qui-Gon interjected, following Obi-Wan's train of thought easily. "Dark, as we are Light?"

"Not that we are aware," Elika answered readily. "But the Dark is not as easy to see as the Light."

"Because of the warpstone," Obi-Wan clarified knowingly. "It swallows the light." He nodded thoughtfully, explaining, "You have existed within the realm of the warpstone for all of your lives; it is conceivable that you would sense its existence as merely a normal part of your daily existence."

This wasn't unheard of by the older Jedi - they often encountered somewhat more primitive cultures using the essences of Light or Dark without realizing it was the Force - but to Anakin, eagerly following the conversation, this was most interesting.

"So, you use the Dark Side without even knowing it?" he asked excitedly.

"Anakin," Qui-Gon murmured a warning, but Elika laughed lightly.

"No, littlest," she explained sweetly, "we do not use the warpstone as you would. It has little spiritual power other than obscuring the raw Light that you employ to enhance your own corporeal abilities. We use it instead for the energy it generates."

"Jedi don't use the Dark side," Anakin pointed out sanctimoniously. "It's evil."

"Of course it is, littlest." Elika patted Anakin's hand gently, just patronizing enough so that Anakin's brow crumpled in annoyance. "Dessert, anyone?"

**OoOoOoOo**

After dinner found Obi-Wan once again drawn to the quiet corner with the window that overlooked the town's small square, marked as such by a huge stone fountain that had apparently broken down some years past for there was no water filling the basin, just curious dark stains the color of which he couldn't make out in the night. Obi-Wan watched apprehensively as spidery shadows of twilight crawled from the dark corners and crevasses between buildings. The hour had grown late and the street was quiet, but Obi-Wan could see dim lights flickering in the windows of the meeting hall where the Jedi had earlier been introduced to some of the Council elders and also invited by the current hosts to dinner.

"Something interesting you, dear one?"

The voice at his shoulder was as unwelcome as it was startling - Elika, the top of her grey head barely reaching his shoulder. She had been his own personal shadow since they had set foot in the town and her constant presence had long grown old to the young Jedi who longed for a moment of peace to order his anxious thoughts.

"Not at all," he answered, forcing cheer into his weary tone. "Just standing here."

"Well, try this," she said brightly, pressing a steaming mug into the hands he automatically lifted as she pushed toward them. The drink was dark and thick, and Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled at the strong and familiar scent.

"I really don't drink kaffe," he protested half-heartedly, but under the sternly disapproving look she leveled at him he immediately took a sip of the bitter liquid, swallowing hard to get the vile taste down. It was decidedly stronger than any kaffe he'd ever had, with a thick texture that clung to his mouth in a most unpleasant way.

She was looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for his reaction.

"Thanks," he choked, forcing a weak smile that suddenly wobbled as a wave of weariness washed over him, pulling the energy from his body as it ebbed. He felt behind him for the chair he knew was there and settled his lagging body onto its firm surface gingerly.

"Are you all right?" his hostess asked in concern, her hand warm on his shoulder as she helped him steady his suddenly trembling frame.

"I'm sorry," he apologized slowly, dropping his forehead into his upraised palms and kneading his temples gently in an attempt to ease the new ache that had burgeoned there. "It seems the last few days have caught up with me."

"That's all right, Obi-Wan." Elika's hand was on his shoulder, dipping to gently circle a slow track across the taut muscles of his back. "Drink the rest of your kaffe and we'll get you to bed; you'll feel better in the morning."

His will to resist gone, Obi-Wan obediently lifted the cup to his lips and drank, draining the bitter liquid without further protest. He didn't object as she took first the cup from his numb fingers and then grasped his elbow gently, firmly but carefully pulling him to his feet, guiding him past the sitting room where Qui-Gon and Makir spoke in hushed tones and into a small bedroom that had been designated for the use of guests.

"All right then, love," Elika cooed, fussing over Obi-Wan like he hazily imagined his mother might have once. "Your bag's here in the corner. Put on your sleep clothes and lie down, and I'll be back to check on you in a minute."

Finally, his brain seemed to kick back in, working sluggishly but at least trying to put pieces together in a puzzle that should have been obvious immediately. "Thank you," he heard himself say, "but I'm really not - "

"Obi-Wan," Elika said firmly, "Lie down. Sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," his mumbled voice took the initiative for him again, and he found wearily that his frozen fingers were already slackly undoing the ties of his tunic and he shrugged out of his shirt, letting to drop to the floor in a rumpled heap. Elika stooped to pick up the discarded material as Obi-Wan sank onto the bedside, tugging sloppily at his boots with hands that were distressingly slow to respond to his brain's commands.

Obi-Wan frowned heavily, trying to form coherent words from the clutter of thoughts in his mind. "I think … I need to see … I need … Qui-Gon…"

Elika was standing close to him, pressing his face almost into her stomach as she trailed her long fingers through his cropped hair soothingly in a way that was decidedly non-maternal. Though it may have been the darkness in the small room, to Obi-Wan's tired mind it seemed as if years had melted away from her face, the lines gone, the grey in her hair changing to raven that shone in the moonlight creeping in through the window. She looked suddenly young to him, eager and … hungry … her crimson mouth smiling promises his struggling mind may not have pieced together but his body certainly did.

"I need … " he tried again, the words right on the tip of his tongue …

"You need to sleep now," she commanded him firmly, but she started in surprise when her trailing fingers dipped below his hairline and encountered the raised ridge of flesh across his neck that slid beneath his under tunic. Almost clinically now, the ravenous possession in her stare faded as she leaned in closer, her hair ticking his nose as she expected the long furrow, her mouth pursing, her eyes flashing black.

"What has happened here?" she asked, bluntly curious. "You are … damaged." Her gaze narrowed. "By Darkness."

Obi-Wan nodded, inexplicably relieved she had drawn away, cautiously releasing the breath that had caught in his throat. "Yes," he said simply, the shift in her tone and manner barely registering to Obi-Wan, so given over was he to his sudden exhaustion. How long had he been tired like this? It felt like a very long time…

Elika straightened briskly, her odd behavior dissipating, and when Obi-Wan glanced again he was relieved to see that his eyes were no longer playing tricks on him: she looked as she had earlier at dinner, small, grey-haired, gentle, and kind.

"Finish changing and rest, Obi-Wan," the old woman said quietly, pausing as she reached the doorway to glance back at him over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "And tomorrow your search will end."

A question formed on his lips that was whisked away by his next breath. Force, he was so tired …

Not even bothering to finish undressing, Obi-Wan laid his head on the pillow and closed his grey eyes.

He was asleep within seconds.


	5. and Shadows

Consider yourself warned: in reviewing my notes for this chapter, I see that they were very concise:

"Anakin too mature. Rewrite as bratty kid. Annoying but necessary for storyline."

but I promise he's no worse than in the movies!

… I just lost half of you, didn't I?

Damn it.

**OoOoOoOo**

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Five**_**: **_**… and Shadows**

Qui-Gon glanced over as Elika entered the sitting room, pushing her grey hair behind her ear, her lined face wrinkled in concern.

"The little Jedi is sleeping," she said to Qui-Gon, carefully settling herself on the low couch next to her husband. She cast Qui-Gon a worried look he knew all too well; he had seen it in his own reflection more and more lately. "The shadows around him are dark."

"Yes," Qui-Gon whispered guiltily, and at his side, Anakin glanced over at him quickly, startled by the admission. "He needs to rest," the Jedi Master agreed, though he knew in his heart that Obi-Wan needed more than that. He didn't know why he felt compelled to explain; perhaps the burden of guilt he carried was finally growing too heavy for him to bear alone, or perhaps it was the gaping holes in the Living Force created by the warpstone. Either way, the words slipped from his mouth almost unthinkingly.

"Obi-Wan … killed a Sith warrior, a Dark one, just a short while ago. It has … " Qui-Gon paused, struggling to be diplomatic, to protect Obi-Wan, and yet to explain to this kind couple his own inner wrestling with his demons. " … changed his life, changed _**our**_ lives, in ways we hadn't anticipated." This was a massive understatement: despite the promoted Jedi ideal of quiet selflessness and servitude, the Nubians had insisted on hailing Obi-Wan as a hero, and the news of the Sith Slayer had spread far and fast, giving Obi-Wan a celebrity-like status he neither wanted nor appreciated.

"Obi-Wan has become very famous very quickly," Qui-Gon explained quietly. "It is not our way, and we are still learning to accept it."

"Well, _**I**_ don't see what the big deal is," Anakin interjected, leaning around Qui-Gon with a strange mix of eagerness and nonchalance. "I mean, I used to win podraces all the time back home, _**and**_ I helped destroy the big ship over Naboo that the other pilots couldn't." His small chest puffed out proudly. "_**And**_ Qui-Gon says I'm the Chosen One. So, I'm pretty famous, but it doesn't bother _**me**_."

"Anakin!" Qui-Gon reprimanded sternly, but he ruffled the boy's short hair kindly and tweaked his short braid. "What I'm saying," he redirected his attention to their hosts, "is that Obi-Wan is not used to being a hero," he smiled at Anakin a little, "like you, Ani."

"Oh," Anakin nodded wisely, adding, "I can see how that would be a problem for him."

Qui-Gon looked back to see equally distasteful looks mirrored on the faces of the older couple and felt a little of the pride at his apprentice wither in his chest. He forged on hastily, "Obi-Wan is simply having trouble adjusting to the new demands on his time." And there were many; the Temple was daily fielding requests for special visits from the young Jedi, and Obi-Wan had quickly learned to his stunned chagrin that the Council wasn't above selling him out for these events if it furthered their cause - in good, noble ways, of course.

Obi-Wan had always been a touch cynical, but the suddenly very apparent self-serving approach of the Council had birthed a bitterness in the young Jedi that Qui-Gon ached to witness, even though he tried to make it somehow more palatable to Obi-Wan - "it's for _**charity**_, Obi-Wan;" "it's for the Temple's outreach program, Obi-Wan;" "it's so we can continue to help others, Obi-Wan, and it's only a small amount of your time…"

But Qui-Gon's efforts did little to appease Obi-Wan. The newly-promoted Knight had always done his duty to the utmost of his abilities; he didn't expect to be made a celebrity for it, and especially not for what Qui-Gon suspected was easily one of the most horrific days of his former Padawan's life. And Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan, out of kindness or perhaps respect, glossed over Qui-Gon's abandonment of him to chase down Anakin, and yet it still hurt Obi-Wan to have to retell his story of taking a life over and over again.

Qui-Gon knew that soon the demands of the Council would finally pluck Obi-Wan from him and he would be able to shelter him no more, just as the Jedi Master knew that eventually the Council was going to catch on that Qui-Gon was continually requesting Obi-Wan's presence on multiple missions not only to aid with training the Chosen One - as Qui-Gon said - but also to protect Obi-Wan from _**them**_.

That would catch on, and they would not be happy, but Qui-Gon would keep at it until they stopped him.

"Master Jinn?"

Makir's irritated eyes were watching him expectantly. "Did we lose you for a moment?"

Qui-Gon blinked, bringing himself back to the present, wishing again that the Living Force was fully connected with him to provide the answers, the clear path. Of course, on _**that**_ day he'd been so sure he was following the unhindered will of the Force, too …

Qui-Gon blinked again, quickly. "Yes," he struggled to respond, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. "I'm sorry." He reached for a way to close the loop of conversation, to move on to safer topics. "Obi-Wan needs to rest; I am grateful he is taking the opportunity to do so." He smiled at Elika. "Thank you for convincing him."

"I'm not tired," Anakin chimed in immediately. "We should go look for the warpstone _**now**_ while Obi-Wan is sleeping." He stood excitedly, full of the cocky confidence of a nine-year-old boy. "I'm sure we can handle it, Qui-Gon."

_**Master**__ Qui-Gon, and your jealousy does not become you, Anakin_, _nor your impatience,_ was the immediate rebuke that flashed through Qui-Gon's mind, and yet he found not for the first time that he was having trouble getting the words out. How does a Master rebuke the Chosen One, after all?

Instead, he squeezed Anakin's knee and flashed him a warm smile. "Your enthusiasm does you credit, Ani," he said generously, "but we need to rest and get an early start so we can travel while it's light. I'm sure you don't want to pass through the forest again by night, do you?"

Anakin's face fell but he nodded reluctantly in agreement. "No, it was pretty spooky."

"Indeed it was," Qui-Gon concurred gravely. "So let us just plan to set out as soon as the sun rises." He looked to their hosts. "That will not be a problem for our guide, I hope?"

Elika shook her head. "Not at all, Master Jinn; I will be ready," she affirmed.

"Excellent," Makir pronounced. "Now, let us turn to other matters." He shifted his attention to Qui-Gon. "Please, tell us what news you have. We are quite isolated, as you see, and have to rely mostly on visitors such as yourselves to bring us word from other places."

Elika ducked out as her husband was speaking and returned with a small carafe filled with steaming liquid. She smiled gently at Qui-Gon, saying softly when her husband paused,

"I am sorry about your young one; I can see that he is damaged."

Qui-Gon glanced questioningly toward Anakin and a flash of annoyance crossed the old woman's face. "Not that one," she said shortly, but then brightened, placing a mug in his hands before he could protest. "Have some kaffe," she smiled sweetly.

**OoOoOoOo**

The shadowy grasp of night still firmly cradled the small house when Obi-Wan awoke, tired and headachey, from a restless sleep filled with dark shapes and whisperings. At some point, he realized slowly, Anakin had laid down next to him on the bed and was now snoring softly, and when Obi-Wan squinted he could make out Qui-Gon's large form huddled under a pile of blankets on the floor.

Obi-Wan frowned muzzily, blinking at the bright moonlight streaming through the window as he tried to discover what had awakened him; closing his eyes again, he sifted through his mind for answers as he let his weary head sink deeper into the soft warmth of his pillow…

He might have drifted off again, but he was roused once more by a shadow crossing the moonlight by the window, and then another; he could tell by the way the light against his eyelids dimmed and the murmur of the Force breathing a warning to be still. Hushed voices whispered over the bed; Obi-Wan tensed, urging his rigid muscles to be at the ready, already aware that his lightsaber lay within reach on the bedside table. His fingers twitched toward it but he forced himself to be still, just be still and listen …

"Do you think he's the One of the Prophesy?" A curious whisper that Obi-Wan identified as Elika's.

"I don't know." Hesitance from Makir, and Obi-Wan realized they were standing over Anakin. _be still, be still, be still,_ he chanted to himself, struggling to feign sleep. _Don't give yourself away…_

"And what about the Master?" He heard rustling as the couple moved, skirted Qui-Gon's large body where he lay sleeping.

"Protective to a fault, it seems, but ultimately powerless." Delivered so matter-of-factly that Obi-Wan could only swallow hard at the truth of it.

"And the damaged one?"

Obi-Wan started as he realized they were talking about him, covered his surprise by shifting as if he were trying to find a more comfortable position, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from jumping when feather-light fingers drifted by his ear. He could almost hear the shrug in Makir's voice as the man replied,

"Strong. Light … but tainted."

Elika's voice was hushed so low Obi-Wan could barely hear her even though he knew she stood right by him. "Which one will he choose?" she asked quietly, still absently carding the ginger hair sliding over her palms.

"I don't know," was the equally soft answer, followed with a warning that disturbed Obi-Wan as he listened, "but I suggest you don't get too attached to either of them."

There was a shift in Makir's tone as he added, "I'm going to the Council now; rest, love, and gather your strength for the morning. It is a long walk to the Falls."

As soon as the couple left the room, Obi-Wan threw the covers aside and reached for his boots. _I knew I had a bad feeling about this. _

The question was … what now? Should he wake Qui-Gon?

Obi-Wan pondered only a moment before deciding against it - he would only be doing a little reconnaissance, after all, and he alone would be much quieter than the two of them. And in the larger scheme of things, they _**did**_ need to locate the warpstone; it was for the best to let Qui-Gon sleep now and rest for the trip ahead. Obi-Wan was by no means blind; he knew that his old Master had been fading to his guilt and mounting exhaustion, little by little, since Naboo, and the hindrance to the Force created here wasn't helping matters.

Obi-Wan swiftly decided that he would follow Makir alone to whatever meeting he was attending, and see if he could gather some answers.

Obi-Wan slipped out into the night, cloaked by darkness. The town was eerily quiet, the same quiet that had existed in the forest and he found himself heading toward the flickering, inviting light peeking through the windows of the meeting hall. As he passed the old stone fountain in the square, a wave of nausea crashed over him and he reached out to grasp the rim of the fountain to keep himself upright.

A roaring was in his ears and he thought it was in his head until he realized that it was the fountain he leant against, rushing and churning, and he wondered why it hadn't been on earlier. _A natural force, maybe_, his mind supplied helpfully, and he dipped a hand into the basin to bring up some water to brush against his forehead to cleanse the sweat that had beaded there.

To his surprise, the liquid in the basin was thick and dark, sticky on his fingers and he flicked them in disgust and swiped them against the hem of his tunic to brush the worst of it away. He pushed away from the fountain wearily and continued on toward the meeting hall, his mouth parched now that he had been denied anticipated refreshment.

The warm lights of the hall cast long fingers into the darkness; in the clear moonlight, Obi-Wan could see mountains in the distance, erupting like jagged, broken teeth from Sylvania's crumbling gums, and a large building, barely discernable, carved into the mountainside. Obi-Wan noticed it only because of the spires rising into the night and the curious green gleam emanating from the structure, twisting around large and disintegrating columns and illuminating the great doors, visible even at this distance.

_How was the mist only prevalent in the daytime and everything so sharp at night?_ he wondered. Obi-Wan shook off his uneasy feeling and moved on, following Makir from a distance, staying in the shadows, hearing the conversation between his hosts ringing sick warning bells in his twisting stomach.

_Do you think he's the One of the prophesy?_

Was it possible they had heard of the Chosen One, even here? Anakin may be in danger because of it; Obi-Wan would have to take care to watch over the boy even more closely.

_And the damaged one?_

That was supposed to be him, he knew, though he shrugged the words off without a second thought. He had done that day what he'd been forced to do; that was all. It was Qui-Gon who bore the scars - all except the one. Obi-Wan resisted the desire to touch his neck, even though he thought he could feel his own scar like fire arcing down his back just as the Sith's lightsaber had tracked its unforgiving path across his skin …

Burning him.

Scorching him.

Blistering his cracking skin.

_Killing_ him.

Another cresting rush of nausea submerged him and when his vision steadied Obi-Wan realized he was bent over, panting desperately, rivers of perspiration streaming down his cheeks; his hands on his knees, his back on fire, he was dying all over again -

_Force, no! _

… _**no**_ …

Eventually the pain reluctantly faded, and all he could hear was his own harsh breathing, loud in his ears, and he was almost immediately embarrassed by the _realness_ of his terror.

Perhaps he _**was**_ damaged after all.

A few more shuddering breaths gasped into the night before the darkness fully receded from his sight. The Knight straightened slowly, stiffly, almost deciding right then to turn around and go back, just go back to bed and reorder himself for morning, but his curiosity got the better of him and Obi-Wan moved forward. Reaching the great hall he slipped inside, not inherently wishing to be deceptive yet he found himself sliding through the barely-open doors as unobtrusively as possible, silent and grim and desperately wishing his gnawing sense of foreboding could just this once be in error.

A hushed meeting was in progress and Obi-Wan inched forward, listening with interest, his cloak drawn closely about him to keep him concealed amidst the shadows.

A robed and hooded figure stood near the front of the room, surrounded by a dozen or so men and women. Lanterns were placed sporadically on windowsills throughout the hall, their warm yellow light barely piercing the shadows, not making it to the tall ceiling nor even quite illuminating much beyond the obscure faces of those gathered. Rows of chairs sat unused, filling nearly the entire room but ignored by the group clustered in the open apse at the front.

The hooded figure was speaking with a voice guttural and scraping, ending in a hiss. "_Your message has been received and your lord thanks you. Know that your messenger did not suffer but has gone on to the glory of serving the greater good."_

The words that chilled Obi-Wan seemed to please the gathered crowd and the Jedi pressed himself further into the shadows, trying not to reflect on how their vacations - even pretend ones like this one - _**always**_ went amiss, but that this one, perhaps, was going to turn out worse than any of the others …

"_The Jedi master will choose one to be brought to Nagashizzar; the others are to be released according to __**His**__ designs."_ The robed one lifted its arms, wide sleeves falling back to reveal arms white and skeletal that were held out over the gathered in a benediction of release. _"Our time is upon us; our victory long awaited approaches. Go now to prepare!"_

Excited rumbles of expectation rose from the crowd as they obediently dispersed, and Obi-Wan wished fervently he'd been able to overhear more - not that what he had already heard wasn't bad enough. People were coming toward him now as they moved toward the exit and Obi-Wan pushed himself back hastily through an open doorway nearby, not wishing to be seen.

He neatly stumbled into a large room, a sanctuary of sorts bathed in white with raised altars and neat lines of pews set into a marble floor. The beauty and simplicity of his surroundings caught his breath in his throat and he almost wanted to drop to his knees in reverence and thank the Force for bringing him here to this place of awe.

It wasn't the Light side of the Force that sang amidst the exquisiteness, however; the Dark side was blindingly strong here - but different somehow, more _pure_ in form than Obi-Wan had ever sensed it before and he immediately realized there must be warpstone present. He could feel the Light that so often suffused his senses ebbing within him, prickling like a foot that had fallen asleep and just as uncomfortable.

_I should get out of here,_ he realized. _Qui-Gon needs to be warned._

But something innate, unacknowledged, compelled him to move on, just a little further, to follow the essence of warpstone to where it was the strongest and see in what capacity these people were using such a volatile material. _As energy_, Elika had said earlier.

His heart hammering in his chest, Obi-Wan took another step forward and his boot skidded slightly in a puddle on the floor, dark and oily-looking against the ivory tiles upon which he trod, blindingly out of place amidst the immaculate opulence surrounding him. He moved on tensely, drawn toward an altar near the front - ornately carved and covered with a woolen blanket. The essence of the warpstone came from this table.

Obi-Wan lifted a corner of the blanket expecting to find a mass of black rock, which he did.

He also found resting at the center of the altar a severed hand, ragged skin and chalky bone ending somewhere mid-forearm, jaggedly torn flesh dripping crimson so dark it was nearly black. Twisted humanoid fingers curled into talons of agony, clutching the warpstone he had been seeking.


	6. A Night to Forget

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Six: A Night to Forget**

Aghast and startled by his gruesome discovery, Obi-Wan hastily dropped the sodden cloth back over the severed hand and the warpstone clenched within its long fingers, stumbling back in horror as appalled thoughts tripped over each other in his mind:

_We should leave. We have to leave! Something is very, very wrong … _

Coupled with the hushed meeting he had witnessed, Obi-Wan's senses were reeling with the _wrongness_ that was surrounding the village, and the shadows and confusion that had plagued him since they'd arrived on Etruria.

_We have to leave!_

A tendril of a thought, its cloaked Darkness obscured from him, gently nudged itself to the forefront of the disoriented Knight's mind, giving immediate pause to his quite reasonable caution.

_But_ …

What about the innocent villagers? Were there any? And if there were, the Jedi couldn't just abandon them.

And there was still the matter of the warpstone deposits.

_Also_, he reasoned calmly, almost numbly - though he noticed somewhat detachedly that his fingers were trembling and his heart may have been thudding in his chest a little more swiftly than its norm - _it's not like we haven't encountered disturbing things on previous missions. This is really just another run of the mill assignment. _

_Really. _

The Knight found that he wasn't convincing himself.

Whether it was the Unifying Force nudging him, or his own instinct, something was telling him that this mission would end in sorrow, that some of them might not be returning from Etruria.

But he'd had the same feeling before leaving for Naboo the second time - _and look how __**that**__ had ended_, he reminded himself pointedly - but they _**had**_ survived. Even if not all of them had survived whole.

Obi-Wan sighed, a soft release of breath that sounded ridiculously magnified to him amidst the splendor surrounding the Knight, rising into the vaulted ceiling but taking none of his worry with it. He had best seek Qui-Gon's counsel, even though he could already hear the patient, "focus on the present, Obi-Wan," that was coming. His old master was certainly very consistent in his advice-giving.

Obi-Wan frowned. Despite his macabre discovery, he felt oddly sad to be leaving this place of beauty. Ensuring the hall was empty, the lights extinguished, Obi-Wan slipped out into the darkness, making his way back to Makir and Elika's. He was so wrapped up in his troubled thoughts, he didn't even notice that _**he**_ was the one being followed this time.

The Jedi was a little surprised and dismayed to see Elika waiting for him, her arms crossed sternly over her chest, her wrinkled brow crumpled into a frown.

"Where have you _been_?" she hissed chidingly, anxious concern lining her face. "You shouldn't be out after dark."

"I just went for a walk," Obi-Wan lied smoothly, adding, "I went to bed rather early, as you recall." And there was a memory attached to _**that**_ thought, one he couldn't quite hold on to but seemed important. They'd had so much to discuss for the next day - why the hell _**had**_ he retired early?

Her eyes raked over him uncomfortably and she gasped suddenly, pointing to his tunic in shock. "Did you injure yourself, Obi-Wan?"

"What?" He glanced down in surprise, startled to see red smears marring his cream tunic near the hem. He thought back quickly, trying to remember where he might possibly have acquired the stains. He hadn't touched the dismembered hand, what else had he done tonight … ?

"The fountain … in the square," he realized slowly. "I wiped my hands after I touched the - "

"Oh! Never you mind, dear," Elika said hastily, grabbing for his hand as he went to touch his tunic reflexively. Her hands were icy cold against his suddenly overheated skin as she soothed, "Clearly you're distraught, little Jedi, let me get you some kaffe … "

"No," his brow furrowed as he shrugged her off, struggling to piece disjointed images together - what was _**wrong**_ with him lately? He needed to go back to the fountain, had to confirm the warning the Force was firmly sounding in his mind. "Excuse me, please, I need to check something … "

There was the soft click of the front door closing and he saw Elika's eyes dart over his shoulder, watched weary relief cross her face at the same moment he heard a _thud_ behind him. It took him a half-second to realize that he'd been struck from behind, but even as his body tried to alert him what was happening, darkness was already closing in around him and he was falling senseless to the floor.

**OoOoOoOo**

"Obi-Wan, wake up. Come on, sleepyhead; morning is upon us!"

Obi-Wan slowly blinked gritty eyes, wanting nothing more than to burrow deeper under the soft blankets piled over him; he had a headache that was pounding fiercely behind his eyes, and Qui-Gon's booming voice sounded magnificently loud in his ringing ears.

"Go 'way … " he mumbled, grasping for his pillow to pull it over his head. His limbs, however, were sluggish to respond and Qui-Gon snatched the fluffy softness away before he could fully hook his scrabbling fingers onto it.

"Come on, Obi-Wan, we have another exciting day ahead of us. Lots to do!"

Accompanying the cheerful words, a large hand settled on his shoulder, shaking gently, but even the light touch was enough to snap him back into awareness. He shot up then, remembering, his gaze flying to the tunic hanging innocently on the bedpost.

It was immaculate.

His brow dipped, blue-grey eyes crinkling in concern and confusion. "Qui-Gon," and his voice sounded hoarse and unused, barely sliding past his cracked lips. Qui-Gon's surprised eyes met his, but Elika was already pushing past the large Jedi from behind, settling a cup of hot liquid into Obi-Wan's shaking hands.

"You've slept a long while, little Jedi," she said gently. "Drink and be refreshed."

He shook his head stubbornly, grimly ignoring the increase of throbbing against his skull at the movement, grasping at loose thoughts that teased around his brain, giddily refusing his lackluster attempts to string them into coherency. "I need to tell you … "

"I know it's not _**my**_ tea, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon interjected kindly, "but it is wonderfully invigorating for kaffe. Have some."

He couldn't have been sure, but Obi-Wan thought there might even have been a bit of _suggestion_ behind his master's words for his hands lifted of their own accord and took the cup from the old woman, and the pair standing over him watched patiently but firmly until he swallowed back the bitter drink. At Qui-Gon's sternly prompting glance, Obi-Wan managed to scrape out a "thank you" to Eilka for the beverage and was pleased that his voice sounded stronger. Gone, too, were the hazy images that had seemed so important just moments ago; his mind was clear and his headache was dissipating even as he pushed himself slowly from the bed.

"All right, then?" Qui-Gon asked with a warm smile. "We'll give you a minute to change and prepare; Anakin is already waiting."

**OoOoOoOo**

They left for the warpstone deposits shortly afterwards, passing quiet houses and the dried out, cracked fountain marking the center of town. Something bothered Obi-Wan about the fountain, an involuntary chill that crawled across his skin as he walked past it, but he shrugged it off and followed his companions complacently as they set off down a well-used path leading out of town the opposite direction from the one they'd entered.

It didn't seem _**quite**_ right, Obi-Wan _**knew**_ he was missing something, and for someone who relied as naturally and instinctively on the Unifying Force as he did it was more than a little disconcerting. But Qui-Gon didn't seem concerned, and Anakin was happily humming to himself as he hopped along, so Obi-Wan shelved the thought for later and resolved to be extra watchful.

They walked on below the hazy sunshine, mist that wouldn't dissipate licking at their boots. Elika proved a capable and knowledgeable guide, and she did Obi-Wan a small favor by keeping Anakin occupied as she listened patiently to him explain the glories of podracing. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes to hear the tales again, but he also realized that back in Mos Espa Anakin had stood out amongst others for his Force-enhanced abilities, while at the Temple he was just another padawan - a padawan who had skipped over many hardworking initiates to be granted a master right away.

Obi-Wan blinked, shaking his head regretfully. He didn't like to think of Anakin in such terms, but it was difficult at times with the boy's unrelenting braggadocio.

The Knight noticed that Elika kept casting concerned glances at him, but he was unsure why she would be concerned; he felt fine, if a little confused, except for a persistent weariness he recognized he shouldn't be feeling if he'd truly slept undisturbed all night as Elika and Qui-Gon had assured him, and a disturbing greying at the edges of his vision that flickered and disappeared if he tried to focus on it.

Perhaps he was simply exhausted. He had been constantly on the move since his and Qui-Gon's initial trip to Naboo, and even of late when the Council didn't have an assignment for him, it seemed like Qui-Gon had need for his former padawan to accompany him and Anakin on whatever mission they were embarking on. Guilt or perhaps affection was motivating Qui-Gon's requests, Obi-Wan knew, and though he truly enjoyed spending time with his old master, Obi-Wan had begun to sense a rising jealousy and possessiveness within Anakin that out of kindness he could not condemn, but knew the Council would clamp down on as soon as they sensed the boy's tempestuous emotions.

It would be for the best if Obi-Wan stepped back, if he politely turned down Qui-Gon's requests that he tag along and just let the two of them adjust to being master and padawan.

_Besides_, he mused with a smile, _it's probably not a good idea to get on the bad side of the Chosen One._

Although, whether or not he believed that Anakin was the "Chosen One" was another story.

Yes. After this mission, he would step back. A sabbatical might do him good, at any rate. It was traditional that a padawan take a brief respite after achieving Knighthood to reflect on their Trials and meditate on the new path before them; Obi-Wan rubbed his newest scar absently. Of late, he'd just been too busy.

Or perhaps he'd been avoiding reflecting over what _**he'd**_ done on Naboo. If he didn't meditate on it, he wouldn't remember - wouldn't have to recall the darkness sliding through his soul, controlling his body as he'd …

**OoOoOoOo**

Something was off with Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon frowned and again tried to read his former apprentice. Obi-Wan's Signature was normal; Qui-Gon had an intimate familiarity with stunning blaze of blue that was Obi-Wan's presence in the Force: while not the blinding brilliance that was Anakin, it was still brightly powerful in its own right.

No, it wasn't Obi-Wan's presence in the Force; that was steady, calm.

Qui-Gon watched the young man slogging ahead of him through the muck, noticed the abnormally slow movement and unusually slumped shoulders of his former padawan. Frowning, he probed a little deeper and immediately realized that something _**was**_ wrong: dark specks danced throughout Obi-Wan's frame, a _taint_ of some sort, an infection polluting the Knight's body.

Qui-Gon quickened his stride, intent on catching up with Obi-Wan, but as he moved closer he felt his sense of the Light start to flicker and weaken, his connection to the sweet song of the Force sliding away like liquid being poured from a pitcher. Darkness started to pound against his hastily fortified mental shields; he caught the surprised looks on Anakin and Obi-Wan's faces that showed they felt it, too.

They had reached the warpstone deposits.


	7. Step on the Storm

Sorry - work has been kicking my poor ass lately. And the Muse has been a little apathetic, which is odd. Reviews are always inspiring, though. ;D

This chapter got away from me, so I split it in two and the next chap will be posted in a day or two if anyone is interested.

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Seven: Step on the Storm**

What had he expected this assignment to be?

A … vacation of sorts?

One more time he was able to tuck both Obi-Wan and Anakin safely beneath his now perhaps overly-protective wing?

A desperate trip where he could try to pretend that everything was normal, that he _**didn't**_ see the angry scar snaking beneath Obi-Wan's neckline, or feel an unpleasant shudder tickle his spine when Anakin's essence darkened just so?

_Yes, _Qui-Gon thought. _Yes to them all._

He saw now that he had grievously miscalculated.

**OoOoOoOo**

Qui-Gon stood at the end of the rocky path they had traveled for hours and gazed somberly upon the wide expanse of the warpstone fields_, _watching as his companions carefully picked their way through the plateau ringed with low, bitter cliffs on all sides but the one they had approached from. Qui-Gon found that he was unnerved from a defensive point of view; anyone standing where they now did could easily be beset upon by attackers from above, and while random outcroppings of dull brown rock protruded at lazy intervals along the cliff face, any protection offered there was severely limited.

_I'm thinking like Obi-Wan_, he chastised himself ruefully, but he also knew that he'd been thinking a little more like Obi-Wan since Naboo…

He pushed forward onto the plateau and was immediately struck by the nearness of Darkness: the warpstone erupting from the jagged ground sucked greedily at Light tendrils of the Force flickering through the air, and occasionally a bright sliver flitted too close to the rock and the warpstone drew it into itself, absorbing and devouring it. Qui-Gon gazed somberly on the horrific sight; it nearly frightened him, would have likely completely terrified him if he chose to consider what he was seeing, to analyze the fear slithering across his suddenly chilling flesh. He felt weak as the Force that continuously buoyed and motivated him leeched away, swallowed whole by the unique properties of a rock that emitted the Dark side of the Force while dampening the Light.

A hissing whisper in the back of his mind, barely felt, encouraged and soothed him, called him to try, to just _sample_ a little of this new and unfamiliar energy that was so strong here. The air was deathly still; the only movement his frozen body could feel was the whisper as it twisted up his skin, offering him _power_ to protect, _power_ to keep …

_You can save him, _the whisper suggested.

"Save who?" Qui-Gon murmured, shaking his head slightly to jostle himself back to full awareness. He glanced at his companions, hoping to ground himself: Elika, their elderly guide, fidgeted unhappily, clearly ill at ease; from where he knelt, curious brow furrowed and gently gliding a finger over the glossy warpstone, Obi-Wan's compact frame radiated tension, and the essence of the Knight that would always have a place in Qui-Gon's mind trembled discontentedly, his apprehension at their situation apparent. Qui-Gon remembered the darkness of the infection he had seen spreading through Obi-Wan's body, knew they needed to hurry to a place where he could examine his former apprentice without distraction. Anakin stood near Obi-Wan, bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly excited by their discovery and the new sensations scattering through his awareness of the Force.

Obi-Wan looked sick. Anakin looked … hungry.

_We shouldn't have brought Anakin along…_ Obi-Wan's worried voice, whether meant for him or no, echoed through Qui-Gon's thoughts and he had to admit, settling anxious eyes on his young Padawan, that he was inclined to agree. There was something unnerving about the anticipation in Anakin's calculating gaze that set off warning bells in Qui-Gon's mind: gut-twisting klaxons that he immediately - and now reflexively - squelched into silence with the calming thought that _Anakin __**is**__ the Chosen One. He __**will**__ be fine. _

"Let's just take some quick readings and samples," Qui-Gon suggested briskly, "and then we can return to the Temple."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow lifted questioningly and Qui-Gon already knew what the Knight was implying: the samples were completely unnecessary; the Jedi could already feel the fell power emanating from the warpstone, and they realized immediately that any emerging Sith power would be _**very**_ interested in attaining such a powerful ally against the Jedi once they learned of its location and especially easy accessibility.

They didn't need the samples, no. But Qui-Gon intended to get them anyway, to follow procedure to the letter as he had on every single mission assigned to him since Naboo.

No unnecessary chances.

No one left behind.

No more regret added to weary shoulders already crumpling beneath their too-heavy burden.

Qui-Gon signaled to Obi-Wan and the Knight nodded tersely, dipping into his pack for a small sensor kit.

"Anakin, watch me, please," Obi-Wan requested softly, and over the top of Anakin's sandy head Qui-Gon caught and accurately interpreted the tense look Obi-Wan shot him: Obi-Wan was as least as concerned - if not more so - about the boy than Qui-Gon slowly and extremely reluctantly found himself becoming.

_But there's no need to worry_, he repeated to himself firmly. _Anakin is the Chosen One. He's stronger than any temptation proffered here._

A longsuffering sigh tickled his senses, the voice of his old Padawan murmuring ruefully, _But he's just a boy, Master._

_A boy who is the Chosen One_, Qui-Gon responded stubbornly, and it occurred to him suddenly in his newly inexplicable annoyance at Obi-Wan that the Knight himself had been acting strangely on this trip. Qui-Gon's forehead wrinkled as he hastily pushed aside the thought that perhaps _**Obi-Wan**_ was the one in over his head here, not Anakin - he shoved the idea away fiercely, although he was uncomfortably aware that the notion had very quietly taken root in the same part of his brain that had initially suggested he should be irritated with Obi-Wan for even doubting Anakin in the first place.

Qui-Gon shook his head sharply to dispel the curious and utterly unwelcome line of thought. _We do not have to fear that the Chosen One will be swayed by such dark enticement, _he warned the Knight still watching him expectantly.

Obi-Wan shot him a startled look, surprised into actually voicing his protest aloud:

"Qui-Gon - " he started hesitantly, clearly unhappy to disagree with the older man but not quite content to let Qui-Gon's expected assurances slide.

"This is _**amazing**_!" Anakin interrupted excitedly, his young voice alight with awe as he wiggled his small fingers lightly, using invisible fingers of the Force to lift small rocks and pebbles. "This is so much easier to do here than at the Temple!"

"Anakin!" Qui-Gon shouted harshly, shock making his tone rough with worry, and Anakin dropped the detritus guiltily, looking at him with huge eyes. Qui-Gon ignored the pained, not quite _I told you so_ grimace Obi-Wan unsuccessfully dipped his chin to hide and moved to Anakin's side, dropping an apologetic hand on the boy's quaking shoulder.

"We cannot use this energy, Anakin," he intoned firmly but gently. "This place is not of the Light."

"But it's so _**strong**_!" Anakin protested immediately, and Qui-Gon irrationally wanted to clap a hand over the boy's mouth to keep the frightening words from slipping out. _He just doesn't know any better,_ he placated himself unsteadily. _It's natural to be curious._

"That doesn't matter, Ani," he explained softly. "It's not good to even let a little of this power in."

Anakin had the grace to look abashed. "I'm sorry, Master Qui-Gon," he murmured sweetly, and his unusual display of polite contrition warmed Qui-Gon's heart so that he immediately regretted being terse with the boy - Anakin hadn't known about the dark properties of the warpstone, after all, having already volunteered that he had not read mission briefing provided by the Council. Qui-Gon realized that he should have thoroughly explained their assignment to Anakin - perhaps on their way to the warpstone field instead of letting Anakin regale Elika with tales of his podracing days - but he admitted remorsefully to himself that having Obi-Wan and his continual striving to be the perfect apprentice as his previous Padawan had spoiled him somewhat.

Qui-Gon ruffled Anakin's cropped hair affectionately. "That's all right, Anakin. Just remember, please, we are here to learn, research, and collect information."

A breeze lifted the ends of his hair and the Master shivered at the knife's edge of chill that danced across his large frame. The air was shifting, he noted tensely, carrying in icy undercurrents that dug unpleasant fingers through his tunic and robe. Trepidation flicked over his senses as he realized that the tall tops of the trees jutting across the distant landscape were not moving with the wind but instead seemed to possess an unearthly stillness.

All was still, like the calm before the storm. All but the wind across the plateau.

Silent until now, merely watching and waiting, Elika glanced at the darkening sky, concern written sharply across her wizened features.

"We need to be watchful," she said lowly. "This is an unkind wind, carrying darkness with it."

"What does that mean? Should we go back?" Obi-Wan, ever the cautious one, asked as he surveyed the roiling clouds that seemed to appear from nowhere, building menacingly and echoing with rumbles of thunder that vibrated the ground below their feet.

"What is this?" Anakin asked nervously, pressing closer to Qui-Gon and the Jedi Master realized this may be Anakin's first experience with a thunderstorm.

"It's nothing to fear," Qui-Gon assured gently, "though we ought to look for shelter."

"We seem to be on the very outskirt of the storm," Elika interjected, but her dark gaze betrayed her nervousness. Her hand went to Obi-Wan's arm and the young Jedi's troubled eyes met hers.

"Be prepared," she said to him softly, for his ears alone. "The Darkness is coming for you." She pulled Obi-Wan forward so faces nearly met, the warmth of her breath brushing his cheek. "It is coming for _all_ of you."

These foreboding words were the last she spoke before the skies opened up and jagged spikes of frigid rain loosed from the heavens to barrel down upon them, biting and slicing into skin and clothing. Frantic shards of electricity spilled from black clouds, darting to the earth to leap from warpstone to warpstone where it was absorbed by the ebony rock and spat back out, stronger than before.

"Look for a safe place to wait out the storm!" Obi-Wan shouted over the noise of the wind, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the rainwater that ran in rivers from his ginger hair to streak down his determined face.

"Below that outcropping!" Elika pointed to a shallow indent along the cliff face that barely looked large enough for the four of them - but it was all they had. Anakin and Qui-Gon were close; Qui-Gon simply gathered the boy up in his strong embrace and dashed for the shelter of the alcove before turning his worried face to the storm to search for his former apprentice. Obi-Wan was reaching for Elika as she staggered toward him, and he wrapped a secure arm around her small waist as they stumbled toward the others.

"Hurry!" Qui-Gon urged, straining to see through the blackness of the onslaught. "Obi-Wan!"

They had almost made it when lightning struck a warpstone deposit nearby. A jagged spray of fragmented warpstone jumped up to pepper their exposed hands and faces and Obi-Wan felt Elika slump in his loose grasp, her weight sagging bonelessly against him. He looked down in horror at the sharp chunk of jagged black rock that had caught her in her throat, now spattered with blood, hissing and spitting as she gurgled and staggered, sinking to her knees. The startled expression frozen on her face said that she had wanted to scream, had _expected_ the chance to scream her momentary terror and pain, but no sound other than a hoarse rattle made it past her lips, accompanied by a trickle of blood so dark it was almost black.

Obi-Wan's arm was behind her back to support her but his dismayed eyes could already see that it was too late. He quickly slid an arm beneath her knees, clutching her body to his chest as he stumbled toward the alcove, not even stopping when a chunk of warpstone clipped him on the shoulder roughly. He dropped to his knees next to Qui-Gon, shuddering against the rain as he peeled Elika's limp body from his sodden frame. Together the Jedi inspected the damage, confirming what they already felt, and Anakin looked on, unsure what to do though clearly ready to burst into tears.

"Do something!" the child demanded, angry tears springing to his bright eyes. "Obi-Wan! Qui-Gon! Save her!"

Obi-Wan shook his head, droplets of water falling from the soaked ginger strands, mingling with small drops of red from a multitude of cuts across his face where he'd been sprayed by warpstone fragments. His hands shook with his burden but his voice was steady.

"I can't, Anakin," he said hoarsely, and Qui-Gon realized the Knight was pulling on all his reserves, all of the filtered Light he could grasp to himself, to save the woman. And he knew that it wouldn't be enough. Even if the three of them pooled all their resources, it wouldn't be nearly enough in this place of darkness.

"Well, use the Force!" Anakin begged, demanding. "It's _**everywhere**_ here!"

"Anakin, it's too Dark," Obi-Wan whispered, his grey eyes pleading with Qui-Gon for help as he held firmly to Elika's body. "It won't save her," he added softly.

"Yes, it will!" Anakin shouted frantically, clutching at Obi-Wan's robe roughly. "It will! You just have to try!"

Qui-Gon moved finally, placing a restraining hand on Anakin's arm. "Obi-Wan is right, Anakin," he said quietly, his firm voice reaching Anakin's ears even through the howling wind. "There is no life in the Dark side."

Anakin fell into silence, leaning into Qui-Gon's outstretched arm as he huddled over his knees miserably. Finally, he mumbled softly,

"I'm scared."

Neither Jedi with him said anything for a moment; unsure, perhaps, at how to respond to the voicing of a feeling they'd been trained since the crèche to quell and ignore. The silence last barely a second, however, before Qui-Gon was surprised to hear Obi-Wan's gentle tenor, sweet and soft and just barely trembling at the edges, singing quietly a song that Qui-Gon had once upon a time sung to him when he was really too old to be sung to but couldn't help being shaken by the premonitions the Unifying Force often delivered to him as nightmares.

"_Close your eyes_

_You can close your eyes, it's all right_

_I don't know no love songs,_

_And I can't sing the blues anymore_

_But I can sing this song_

_And you can sing this song_

_When I'm gone … "_

Obi-Wan's voice roughened and faded as he cradled Elika's still body against him, waving off Qui-Gon's occasional attempts to relieve him of her weight. All was silent for a moment but for the raging of the storm, when Anakin's small voice asked,

"What's 'the blues'?"

Obi-Wan chuckled lowly, tossing his old master a tired grin despite the severity of their situation.

"It's what Qui-Gon sings about us when he thinks we can't hear him."

One by one, they drifted into an uneasy slumber as the pulsing warpstone leeched the Light and energy from their exhausted bodies and the rain drove into their backs; they clutched each other tightly, not realizing that these hours would be their last together.

**OoOoOoOo**

lyrics are a paraphrasing of a james taylor song that wouldn't go away and even managed to work its way into a later chapter (yeah, _**that's**_ not foreboding … ;)


	8. Broken Hearts and Broken Bones

Thanks for the reviews! Look how you've inspired the Muse. ;-)

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Eight: Broken Hearts and Broken Bones**

"_What have you done?_"

These were the gasped out words that roused them from troubled slumber. Qui-Gon blinked hazily at the accusatory tone over his shoulder, shifting and twisting in his damp robes to squint into the bright sunlight that was now shining cheerily over the glistening warpstone field. Shadowy figures filled his line of sight and he struggled to place the demanding voice that was barely familiar to him.

"We have welcomed you, brought you into our village and our home, and _**this**_ is your reply?" Grief stung the ragged speech, and Obi-Wan's returning murmur was barely loud enough to reach Qui-Gon's ears; Qui-Gon slowly realized that the young Knight sounded utterly drained, that his reply was a touch too soft to be normal. Dread poured into Qui-Gon's soul like a pitcher being filled with water: something was wrong with Obi-Wan.

_Please, no, _he thought achingly.

"Makir, please…"

When Obi-Wan said the man's name his voice also clicked in Qui-Gon's memory: of course, their host. And now their guide's widower.

The old man sliced a brusque swath of inconsolable anger through the air with a gnarled hand. "No!" He folded to his knees slowly beside Obi-Wan, reaching out trembling fingers for the body of his wife, wrapped gently now in Obi-Wan's robe. He carefully pulled the shrouded form from the Knight's unresisting arms with exquisite care, moisture spilling from his eyes and staining the chestnut fabric.

"There is nothing you can say that will atone for this tragedy." He backed up slowly with his precious parcel, his gaze black as he surveyed each Jedi in turn.

"There is only restitution."

He nodded at the small cluster of men behind him, and Qui-Gon's brow furrowed as he realized the men with him looked not at all like Makir's fellow villagers: these men were tall and solidly built, with cruel faces and hard eyes that stared at the Jedi coldly. Only Obi-Wan showed a hint of recognition, but when Qui-Gon shot him a curious glance he lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, his expression confused.

As Makir reverently set his wife's body to the side, his companions surged forward and pulled the Jedi from the alcove where they had sheltered the brutal storm the night before, grasping roughly at cloaks and hoods or whatever they could hook their fingers onto. Obi-Wan gasped as a sharply clawed hand fastened onto his wounded shoulder where it was still an angry and sticky red, sheared by a mass of serrated warpstone.

Once Qui-Gon's eyes adjusted to the light, he had some difficulty keeping his own startled gasp in: Makir's companions were not exactly men, as he had presumed, but rather _manlike_ in their form, with skin so pale it was nearly translucent, stringy raven hair bound into elaborate braids, and elegant, narrow ears that drew to a point at the apex. Their glittering eyes settled on the Jedi greedily, malicious smiles twisting thin lips into a collective rictus of insatiable hunger that did not bode well for their captives. Anakin screeched and swiped at the hands at the hands grabbing for him; Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan reacted instantly to his cries though their senses were dulled by their cramped positioning and blunted access to the Light. For their troubles, Obi-Wan took a hard jab to the cheek and Qui-Gon received a blow to the temple that nearly sent him to his knees. He blinked past his watering eyes, struggling to bring his focus under control.

The Jedi were dragged without further protest into the center of the warpstone protrusions but couldn't keep in a shared moan at the Dark that invaded their senses. They noticed now that the plateau had _shifted_ somehow during the storm; splintered fragments of warpstone littered the sodden ground and there were small hills cropping up where before the ground had been even. It was an odd phenomenon, one Qui-Gon wished he could examine more curiously, but there would be no time for that.

Their captors exuded Dark energy and as they were hustled forward Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a wary glance that conveyed many different thoughts:

_Anakin's safety is paramount. _

_Stay calm. _

_I've got your back. _

_Can we __**never**__ take a vacation without something Really Bad happening?_

Qui-Gon the Dark ones pushed to Makir's side, while Obi-Wan and Anakin were quickly bound at the wrists and spun to face the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon felt the knot in his stomach boil over into a writhing, burning mass that almost closed his throat completely, choking his unsteady breaths into hitching gulps. He realized what was about to happen even as the sick clenching of his gut informed him that he was powerless to stop it.

_Please no. Please, __**please**__ no._

But his horror couldn't halt the next words that came from Makir's mouth:

"Choose."

The word was spat at him harshly, simply spoken but it made the burning in Qui-Gon's stomach reach a fiery hand up to squeeze around his heart, turning the suddenly vacillating beat into a pounding tattoo filled with despair. His weak knees refused to support him and he sank to the dirt, small, unnoticed pebbles digging into his knees as the strength left his body.

"I choose myself then," he somehow had the presence of mind to say, as composed as he possibly could, distantly wondering if the raging in his chest could be heard by the man waiting callously for the Jedi's answer. He fought to rise to his feet, aware that Anakin's snarls were farther from him than he would have liked, but a firm hand on his shoulder kept him subserviently in place, kneeling on the ground, floods of weakness pouring into him.

"Impossible," Makir negated coldly, any resemblance he had once born to the cordial host Qui-Gon had shared an evening of intelligent conversation with now nonexistent. "Choose one to stay, or they both die here."

Qui-Gon jerked away roughly to lift his stare to the bound figures held firmly a few meters from him. Obi-Wan regarded him calmly from the eye that wasn't already swelling purple, his gaze steady and reassuring. Beside him, Anakin watched Qui-Gon with huge, scared eyes, his fear both evident and understandable.

"Please!" Qui-Gon gasped again, his straining voice catching in his throat. Despite his intensive training, terror - multiplied tenfold by the Dark generating from the warpstone - threatened to overwhelm him and he felt weak and unsteady.

"We are not to blame," he continued, wising he could impress on them with his words the sheer agony he was in, but what could he say? "I would plead for mercy…" he ground out, pushing the words past his lips. Qui-Gon forced strength into his fading voice - _please, not again!_ he begged the Force once more. _Please don't make me choose between them!_ Could his beloved Force truly be so cruel?

"If you must take one of us," the Master reiterated softly, clenching his eyes closed to stem the crowding moisture threatening to unravel his control, already so shaken by the Darkness. "I beg you to take me. I am responsible for them. Please. _Please_ … "

"No! Qui-Gon!"

Anakin's shout made Qui-Gon open his eyes again but it was Obi-Wan he fixed upon, saw the grey gaze widen as the man the young Knight had always regarded as an implacable force begged for mercy and took fault for a situation in which there had been none to blame. At a gesture from Makir, a long, wickedly curved knife was produced from the belt of the creature who restrained Obi-Wan.

"Will you choose?" Makir growled harshly, ignoring Qui-Gon's entreaties as he captured the wildly darting gaze of the Jedi Master with a piercing amber stare. "Or would you have the choice made for you?"

He looked away from Qui-Gon's desperate eyes and jerked his chin sharply at the one clutching Obi-Wan's bound arms. The knife went to Obi-Wan's ribcage where it easily pierced tunic and skin as it lazily dug upward, tormenting raggedly with the blade, and Qui-Gon watched, transfixed by horror, as a flower of red blossomed across the Knight's white tunic.

"NO!" he cried frantically, his heart twisting at the pained grimace that crossed Obi-Wan's ashen face. Had Qui-Gon been more in possession of his faculties, he would have easily realized that something darker, something far deeper and more sinister was at play, but his world had narrowed down to the two faces before him and the terrifying choice that was being thrust upon his quaking shoulders.

"The boy, then?" the man beside Qui-Gon taunted darkly, and with a careless flick of his hand, the bloody knife was retracted. Obi-Wan jerked with a strangled whimper as the blade slid out from its resting place between his ribs and the Knight slumped wearily in the tight grip of his captor. The creature with the knife started toward Anakin.

"No! No, damn you!" Qui-Gon would have lunged for the boy, but the rational part of his mind that remained despite his desperation warned that such a move would multiply the danger to both of the lives in his care.

"Me!" Obi-Wan shouted suddenly, grabbing their attention. "He chooses me!" Obi-Wan visibly swallowed hard, but his voice was calm. "I will pay the forfeit. Leave the boy alone," he finished quietly as Makir directed his cold stare at the Knight, and only Qui-Gon - the man who knew him better than anyone - heard the waver in Obi-Wan's tired tone.

Makir swung back to Qui-Gon, a feral satisfaction suffusing his question: "Do you choose this one?" he demanded. Qui-Gon was too wrapped in suffocating grief to speak and he stared at the young Knight with desperate denial in his eyes.

_Please, no. Please don't do this to me. Please don't make me choose. Not again._

Obi-Wan easily read his anguish. "Yes, he does," he said firmly.

"I'll hear it from you," Makir stated to Qui-Gon shortly, and from where he still knelt in the dirt Qui-Gon somehow managed to turn his face up to his tormentor, to see the words flung against the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Do you choose this one to make restitution for your betrayal?"

Qui-Gon felt the expectant silence hang over him, an oppressive shroud, and he struggled to meet the amber eyes that bored into him expectantly, prompting him to say the words that would send the young Knight to his death.

_I can't_, he thought desperately. How could he? But how could he choose Anakin, whose life as Qui-Gon's Padawan was just beginning; had he escaped the harsh life of slavery only to be taken so young as a price demanded?

Or Obi-Wan, newly Knighted. Could Qui-Gon sacrifice the son of his heart? Over the years, Obi-Wan had become so familiar to him that Qui-Gon read an upraised eyebrow or the expressive mouth as easily as the young Jedi's accented words.

_I can't. __**Please**__._

Obi-Wan's strong gaze said, _You have to._

"Then they both die," Makir decreed brusquely as Qui-Gon's silence lengthened.

"No!" Qui-Gon's face was streaked with tears he could not keep from falling. How could these men force him to make such a cruel decision? He _could not _choose Anakin; and so Obi-Wan would die knowing that his former master had condemned him. He again pushed to his feet and was again stopped.

"If you intervene," Makir murmured softly, "I will kill them both."

"No… " Qui-Gon's eyes begged forgiveness as he forced out a whispered: "I choose Obi-Wan."

"Qui-Gon, no!" Anakin shouted as he was released and roughly shoved toward Qui-Gon. He wriggled away from his captor, throwing himself at a surprised Obi-Wan. "No!" he sobbed distraughtly. "Please don't let them take you, Obi-Wan! Do something! Use the Force or something!"

Obi-Wan hissed as Anakin latched onto him tightly, his sore body protesting as Anakin burrowed his face into the Knight's stomach. Obi-Wan would have liked to been able to at least return the boy's embrace, but his arms were still bound stiffly behind him just as Anakin's had been.

"Ani - Ani, you must listen to me," he tried to sound calm, but knowing that Qui-Gon was abandoning him - again - even if he absolutely _**had to**_, left him trembling ashamedly. "Please, Master Qui-Gon needs you." Already they were grabbing Anakin's small shoulders and pushing him back toward Qui-Gon and any further words from Obi-Wan were lost as his slender frame was swallowed up by the Dark creatures that swarmed around him determinedly, shoving and pushing and pummeling him to the ground, their cries of victory ringing over the sickening sounds of fists striking flesh.

Qui-Gon lifted dead, hopeless eyes to the man before him as Anakin pawed at his sleeve, tears suffusing his small face. Qui-Gon had tried to catch a glimpse of Obi-Wan but the smaller Jedi was wholly swallowed up within the group of warriors and all he could hear were the noises, _Force_, the noises he would hear in his nightmares for months to come. Makir returned his stare with eyes devoid of mercy or compassion for the suffering Jedi.

"The forfeit will be paid." Makir pronounced, his golden eyes growing a shade darker. "Any further interference will result in loss your own life and that of the one you chose to save," he murmured coldly. The sounds of struggle slowly ceased but Qui-Gon still heard every hurt echoing in his mind, felt every blow.

"Go now," their one-time host pronounced disdainfully, "for every heartbeat you remain here you prove your weariness of life, and we will gladly relieve you of your suffering to repay the grief you have caused us."

"Qui-Gon … " Anakin whimpered, pulling, fidgeting, unable to stand still, "Do something… "

_He'd done it again. He'd had his hand forced and he'd chosen. _

"Makir," Qui-Gon ground out hoarsely, scraping the words past his ravaged throat, but the other man held up a hand.

"You have chosen. It is as He willed." For the first time, gentleness flashed through the old man's tone. "Would you throw away that which your young one will die to save?"

With these pitiless words Makir turned his back on him, leaving Qui-Gon staring after him, heart shattered into a thousand pieces, clutching Anakin's hand tightly.

**OoOoOoOo**

**Have a great weekend! Please review if you can! **


	9. Fell on Black Days

Haven't felt much like writing since I lost one of my closest friends a month ago. The Muse was twitching, though, to remember one who always saw people as the best version of themselves, whether they actually managed it at the time or no.

For JZ. I miss you and I love you. I still expect to glance up and see you walk through the door; there are no words to express the realization that I never will again.

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Nine: Fell on Black Days**

From where he lay on the cold, grassy ground that was rapidly dampening under him with sticky rivers of his own blood, Obi-Wan couldn't see Qui-Gon and Anakin being forced away, couldn't hear Qui-Gon ineffectual pleas for mercy any longer. He could barely even feel Qui-Gon's presence in the back of his mind, fading now, and ever more distant in its horror and desperation.

His master's terror was very real, nearly superseding Obi-Wan's own since almost all thoughts and feelings for himself had passed out of his cognizant acknowledgement and ability to feel. There was blackness flirting with the edges of his vision, persistent threads that were weaving a dark tapestry his working mind was slowly giving up trying to pierce; there was nothing for him here now anyway, no reason to struggle to stay conscious. He should just let go, let the Force draw him down into the inevitable.

Another spike of Qui-Gon's terrible misery drove through him like a knife with an unyieldingly sharp blade, snapping his eyes open, bringing the sound of his own harsh panting roaring back to his ears.

_Qui-Gon may not survive this_, was the heartrending thought that flashed through Obi-Wan's mind, followed swiftly by an abruptly blinding, bubbling pain as the bone in his upper arm snapped. He was a little surprised: he thought they had stopped beating him because he couldn't feel it anymore. Obi-Wan was forced to append the disheartening addition: _**I**__ may not survive this. _

Which was a ridiculous thought, and he giggled just a little, because he wasn't _**meant**_ to survive. He had forced Qui-Gon to move because he'd had to, had made him make the decision Obi-Wan knew had broken his friend's heart, but what choice had they had? It was Obi-Wan or Anakin, or all three of them. Of _**course**_ it had to be him.

But that didn't mean that he wanted to die.

**OoOoOoOo**

"I can't believe you left him!"

Could that sullen voice belong to his apprentice? He was barely listening, focusing more on the small piece of rock he was twisting between his large fingers:

Warpstone.

He and Obi-Wan had nearly been killed by the _Absarti_ as they'd procured its location, and now Obi-Wan would die because they had actually found it.

But the cost, some would say, had been worth it. The Jedi would be able to monitor the warpstone fields, guard them against the Sith, protect themselves and their Force-enhanced abilities and continue to help others. An enormous number of countless beings would be safer, happier.

And all it had cost was Obi-Wan's life.

Qui-Gon was fascinated by the fact that he couldn't actually see his fingertips where they clutched the stone: blackness emanated from the stone's core, pulling in the light surrounding it. He shouldn't even be holding it, but as Obi-Wan had died for it, he couldn't seem to let it go.

"Obi-Wan wouldn't have left _**us**_!"

Qui-Gon glanced over dully as Anakin suddenly snatched his lightsaber from his belt and Force, he looked just like a much younger Obi-Wan in that moment, ready to defend, itching to fight.

"Anakin." He heard himself say his Padawan's name mildly. "We will send word to the Council. We will do all we can. Put your weapon away." The stunted sentences fell from his firmly thinned lips. Already Obi-Wan's presence in his mind was sliding away … he reached for it desperately, apathetic in his despair yet somehow frantic in his attempt to snatch the last fraying strands.

"No," he whispered disconsolately. His aching soul fragmented into a thousand shattered pieces as the bright presence of Obi-Wan dimmed; he was reliving the torment, the nightmare of Naboo all over again - he had failed his young one _again_. Tears spilled from his eyes. "I need you," he murmured brokenly.

At his side, Anakin heard the words and mistakenly assumed his new master was speaking to him. Qui-Gon needed him. Needed _**him**_. He squared his small shoulders, pushing his own sadness aside.

"I'm here, Master," he assured. "It's you and me now, Qui-Gon," he said, softly but firmly, hooking a small hand onto Qui-Gon's elbow to lead him onward. Master and Padawan, relying only on each other, as it should be and should have been all along.

"Just you and me," he repeated quietly to himself.

And he realized that that didn't sound too bad.

**OoOoOoOo**

Evidently, they didn't intend to kill him right away, which Obi-Wan would have thought was a good thing but for the nausea-inducing agony he was currently suffering. These creatures of darkness had pummeled him quite thoroughly before hauling his protesting and swaying body upright and forcing him to walk. He could feel the splintered ends of his humerus grinding together as he weakly clutched his damaged arm to his side and stumbled along, roughly forced on by a swift jab or slap if his pace slowed unacceptably. If he allowed his gaze to slide over to study his companions he was also given a sharp reminder to keep his eyes on the path ahead.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but be curious about the humanoids prodding him along, with their pale irises gleaming in the midday sun and white faces pinched tight beneath masses of elaborate braids. He knew instinctively he recognized these creatures - although they walked upright and were of humanoid form, Obi-Wan was having trouble applying a description other than 'creature' to these beings of savage darkness - but he couldn't place how he was familiar with them.

Obi-Wan's mouth twisted into a grimace - _six men to guard one pitiful prisoner? _He allowed a scoff that slid into a gasp when one of the creatures glanced at him warningly; he would not antagonize them if he could help it, they who now took any chance to hurt him that they could so long as he could still stagger along at their unwavering pace. He'd fallen once, and vowed to himself he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him on his knees again.

His eye was swollen shut but he didn't need his limited vision to catalogue the dizzying array of gouges, slashes, and darkening bruises that marked his slim frame, or that his formerly white clothes were now stained with dirt and crimson, particularly saturated over the clammy slice across his ribs. His mouth was terribly dry and every step was agony as they force-marched him on, back the way he thought he, Qui-Gon, and Anakin had come with Elika but there was no sign, no sense the other Jedi had returned this way.

What bothered him more than his limited vision and physical suffering was his Force blindness; the warmth, the Light, he was so accustomed to living sucked away by the warpstone surrounding him and now he could not _remember_ where he had seen creatures like this, and could not even attempt the most basic healing for his battered body. Obi-Wan was in anguished misery, yet he found his scattered thoughts continually drifting back to his former master. _I'm so sorry, Qui-Gon,_ was the prevailing theme that raced through his mind.

_So sorry._

Obi-Wan tripped on a rock that shifted under his boot and one of the grim creatures flanking him snapped out a hand to keep him upright, long fingers closing roughly on the broken bones in Obi-Wan's upper arm. Obi-Wan screamed hoarsely, his vision shifting first to grey, and then to black…

**OoOoOoOo**

Anakin's gaze shot over worriedly as Qui-Gon's large frame staggered, the name "Obi-Wan" falling soundlessly from his lips. His lined face was bloodless in the cold afternoon sunshine and Anakin tightened his hold on Qui-Gon's lax hand, persistently tugging his master onward.

"Qui-Gon," he said worriedly, "Stay with me, please. I need you to help me get back."

Qui-Gon turned red, aching eyes to him and the small Padawan felt a surprising stab of jealousy jolt through him: they had barely escaped with their _lives_, and all Qui-Gon could think about was Obi-Wan? As they had continued their stumbling path, Anakin had found his jumbled thoughts confusing him. He was afraid and sad and worried, and he knew that this was okay, despite what Master Yoda tried to tell him, because how could it be wrong to feel? It was the sense of _relief_ that bothered him, this new and growing feeling that Obi-Wan was out of their lives and Qui-Gon wouldn't have to split his attention between them anymore. He could focus on Anakin as he'd promised he would, as he had been before Obi-Wan's accident on Naboo had changed Qui-Gon into a Master no longer as attentive to his Padawan as he should have been.

"Get back?" Qui-Gon whispered hesitantly, barely audible, his voice croaking in his raw throat. "Get … Obi-Wan back?"

Anakin fiercely crushed down the feelings overwhelming him, concerning and confusing him. _Obi-Wan would have been going on missions by himself now anyway, so we never would have seen him_, he thought, and the realization that he should have been horrified by his own callousness never occurred to him, nor did the thought that the little black rock clutched in Qui-Gon's hand was affecting his thoughts, guiding them down paths of darkness that otherwise wouldn't call to him so strongly for many years yet.

"No, Qui-Gon," he mumbled quietly, still guiding his master along, "not now. We have to get back to our ship."

Qui-Gon's bleary eyes settled fully on him and Anakin felt a flash of guilt wondering if Qui-Gon could sense the growing excitement he was trying so hard to hide. He knew he shouldn't be looking forward to a life with Qui-Gon _**without**_ Obi-Wan - but he was gladly, giddily, happily. It felt like a huge weight had lifted off his small shoulders, and now he - and Master Qui-Gon - were free.

"That's right," Qui-Gon murmured, passing a hand across his eyes. "I have to get you back to the ship."

"_**Us**__,_ Master Qui-Gon," Anakin corrected, a small glimmer of worry touching him at the dullness of Qui-Gon's tone. "_**We**_ need to leave."

"Yes… we do." Qui-Gon's shoulders straightened suddenly, a new sense of purpose visibly settling over him as he pulled out of his slump, a determined fire igniting in his ice blue eyes. Anakin didn't know what it meant…

But he didn't like it.

**OoOoOoOo**

With less than gentle hands, Obi-Wan was prodded into the village where clusters of no-longer friendly townspeople had gathered to kick, spit, and slap at him as he was shoved roughly past them. His constant movement during the grueling march had kept the knife wound over his ribcage from clotting and it continued to bleed freely, staining his tunic a deep, worrying red.

It was unreasonable but he couldn't help the gaping pit that had settled in his stomach since Qui-Gon had condemned him. Obi-Wan pushed aside the ridiculous feeling of betrayal; at least he wouldn't live long enough to feel the gnawing bite of lonely wretchedness much longer.

But that desolate realization didn't make it any easier to put up with the abuse of the villagers, and Obi-Wan could neither duck nor raise a hand to defend himself as the jeering crowd lobbed rotten vegetables and rocks at him if they were not close enough to inflict damage with their own hands, adding to his torment as he stumbled on surrounded by his guards.

The Force was suspiciously absent, and Obi-Wan couldn't ignore the frustrated and angry helplessness that knifed through him - why, when he needed it the most, was it nowhere to be found, thwarted by the mere presence of that damned rock? Obi-Wan was struggling to behave in a way that would honor his years of training, but it was becoming difficult to even remain upright as he was herded along. When a hurtling rock thrown by a villager struck the torn tunic over the bleeding slice along his skin, Obi-Wan doubled over in agony, only to be forcefully straightened again and pushed on roughly.

_I don't want to die._

The thought came to him and he banished it quickly. He couldn't completely quash the tiny part that held out hope that Qui-Gon would somehow come back for him, but he was well aware of the danger and foolhardiness of such an attempt. Qui-Gon would not place Anakin in that sort of peril again - even for his former apprentice and longtime friend.

He passed the old and crumbling fountain in the middle of the small town, and noted with queasy apprehension that the liquid now spewing down the sides to pool in the cracked basin was a bright, familiar red.

**OoOoOoOo**

Relief filled Anakin as their days-old campsite came into view, still littered with the scattered remnants of their small fire and a couple of blackened chunks off to the side that Anakin was pretty sure were the charcoaled remains of Qui-Gon's attempt at dinner. He knew they should camp here; he was tired and Qui-Gon probably was too.

"We can stay here tonight," he said.

Qui-Gon immediately shook his head. Damp strands of mahogany hair were plastered to his face from his exertion, and his pale eyes gleamed overly bright in the waning sunlight fighting to pierce the thick veil of the canopy of leaves overhead.

"No. We need to keep moving."

"Qui-Gon, we can't keep going," Anakin sighed. "It's late, and we're tired. And remember it's not safe to travel the woods at night."

"I don't care," Qui-Gon announced stubbornly, his determined gaze burning his insistence into his padawan. "We need to get back to the ship."

"Qui-Gon, I'm tired," Anakin knew there was a whine in his voice, but he was exhausted! And Qui-Gon was being completely unreasonable.

"We will not sleep while Obi-Wan suffers," Qui-Gon averred sternly, his pace increasing rather than slowing. "We keep moving."

Anakin looked around the darkening forest wearily, a shiver crawling across his body. Oppressive in the day, the forest was positively _spooky _at night. He reached for the Force to calm himself but found only the unfamiliar essence that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had warned him so strongly against using. Something about it seemed comforting, quieting his busy mind, and he wondered why they had demanded he not use it when it really was helpful in calming him, making him feel like he could go on if Qui-Gon was demanding it. He would show Qui-Gon that even at his age he was just as good a Padawan as Obi-Wan had been - _**better**_, even.

Anakin grabbed at a little more of the feeling and felt energy warming his tired legs, giving him the strength to keep moving, making him powerful. The Force _**was**_ here, and he couldn't believe that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan hadn't felt it. Knowing that he, Anakin, _**had**_ felt it filled him with pride and he smiled as he hurried on to keep up with Qui-Gon.

_I could have saved Obi-Wan if Qui-Gon had let me_, he realized, ignoring the little voice that insisted it was better this way.

**OoOoOoOo**

Obi-Wan was taken to a small building near the meeting hall that served as prisoners' quarters; he was steered to a cramped room within, apparently to await his execution. Chains set into the wall and embedded deeply in the dirt floor were fastened to his wrists and ankles and he would have screamed when his arm was straightened but he couldn't draw breath into his gasping lungs to produce the sound his mind was already shrieking in silence. Hot tears sprung to his eyes and he blinked rapidly, feverishly wishing he could keep the salty tracks from sliding down his sickly wan cheeks.

_Focus, little one_.

_Easy for you to say,_ he thought wryly, but the Knight found that thinking of Qui-Gon lessened his pain just a little. He directed his wavering focus firmly and discovered there was sufficient leeway in the chains that he could tear off a strip of his dirty tunic. Obi-Wan wadded the coarse material into a ball and jammed the cleanest part of the cloth he could find against his wounded flank roughly, resolutely ignoring the whimpering, animalistic keen that slid through his teeth at the contact.

Rudimentary and soon-to-be-unnecessary first aid performed, Obi-Wan leaned his back against the wall tiredly, carefully clutching his awkwardly-swinging arm to his chest and pulling his knees up in a futile gesture meant to defend his battered frame. He allowed his head to drop forward onto his upraised knees and closed his eyes, drifting into tormented and fractured dreams.

Soon enough - minutes or hours, he couldn't tell - hands grasped at his biceps, rattling the chains as they clattered to the floor, and he was hauled to his feet despite his body's vehement complaints and outright refusal to cooperate.

"Time to go already?" Obi-Wan rasped, wincing. He didn't have much time to check his overall condition, but he passed a quick hand over his ribcage and frowned heavily at the heat radiating from the wound there. Infection. How unpleasant.

The full moon hung low in the cobalt sky, bright stars dotting the velvet darkness. The crisp air stung at his exposed skin as he was escorted outside and he shivered at the unwelcome chill. An undefined sense of horror was slowly stealing over him, a darkness that slithered up his skin and coiled in thick bands around his heaving chest.

He heard it before he saw it.

The sound of low groans of unendurable agony reached his ears, along with the creaking of old wagon wheels and an odd, unrecognizable cacophony of _skkkch_ing noises and gasping shrieks. The noise alone was enough to stop his breath in his throat, but then came the smell that accompanied the sounds: the ghastly sweet sickness of rotting flesh that caused an uncomfortable roiling in his already queasy stomach and brought to the fore memories he'd rather forget of missions gone wrong even before they'd set foot in the ruined cities and had to see those who had fallen and been left behind.

A loud screech assaulted his ears and he heard the flapping of large wings overhead; Obi-Wan looked up sharply but could barely see the great shape outlined against the dark sky; not a bird, not a creature he was familiar with, but a presence that filled him with unbearable terror. He was shaking and couldn't help himself:

There were few times in his life that Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever been truly frightened.

Now was one of them.

**OoOoOoOo**

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	10. Skin and Bones

Author's note: A faint stirring of a long-silent Muse has prompted the writing and release of this chapter. Please enjoy and review if you'd like to see more! If I didn't mention before that the rating is partly due to moderate gore, let me just say that now.

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Ten: Skin and Bones**

_He heard it before he saw it. _

_The sound of low groans of unendurable agony reached his ears, along with the creaking of old wagon wheels and an odd, unrecognizable cacophony of skkkching noises and gasping shrieks. The noise alone was enough to stop his breath in his throat, but then came the smell that accompanied the sounds: the ghastly sweet sickness of rotting flesh that caused an uncomfortable roiling in his already queasy stomach and brought to the fore memories he'd rather forget of missions gone wrong even before they'd set foot in the ruined cities and had to see those who had fallen and been left behind. _

_A loud screech assaulted his ears and he heard the flapping of large wings overhead; Obi-Wan looked up sharply but could barely see the great shape outlined against the dark sky; not a bird, not a creature he was familiar with, but a presence that filled him with unbearable terror. He was shaking and couldn't help himself:_

_There were few times in his life that Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever been truly frightened. _

_Now was one of them. _

**OoOoOoOoOo**

Trapping his damaged arm tightly against his helplessly hitching chest, Obi-Wan Kenobi straightened proudly, as rigidly as he was able with the excruciating pain twisting up through his body. Behind him, his guards shifted restively, their own palpable unease drilling into the Jedi's already thrumming senses, and they showed their mounting discomfort by latching onto their silent prisoner - their offering - like a sacrificial shield, the one thing that stood between them and the horrifying darkness drawing ever steadily nearer.

A clawed hand pierced the firm flesh of Obi-Wan's uninjured bicep; another snaked around the back of his neck, allowing a long finger to brush against the ridged scar there and sending a rippling shudder through the Knight's slender frame. Obi-Wan turned his head uncomfortably, feeling claws rake through the short hair at the nape of his neck, catching in the soft ginger strands, and he involuntarily released a strangled gasp in his throat at the resulting tiny pinpricks along his scalp.

Obi-Wan couldn't make anything out in the oppressive fog, couldn't see down the blanketed road, but he was unhappily aware of the large creature swooping and circling high above him, shielded by laden trees, its grimly evil presence now unmasked and familiar to his senses.

"Is this going to take all day?" he forced himself to ask mildly, and was pleased that his voice sounded above a groan despite the tremors crawling across his chilled and perspiring body. "I'm not in a hurry to die, but since I'm not expecting a last minute rescue, I also hate to draw it out … "

Obi-Wan's voice froze in his throat.

A cart was slowly rolling through the fog, gradually becoming visible to his grey eyes, and Obi-Wan found that although no words could escape his clenched teeth, a whimpering moan still found its way past his lips at the unspeakable awfulness manifesting itself before his dismayed stare.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

"We're almost there, Anakin," Qui-Gon urged relentlessly, his untiring stride seeming so much longer than Anakin's short legs could manage. Sweat dripped onto Anakin's collar, slid down his back - he was so _**hot!**_ Even the desert heat of his home planet couldn't compare to the sticky mugginess of Sylvania, and Anakin wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from this planet, this place where the bugs bit him endlessly and it was so incredibly warm.

The place where they had lost Obi-Wan … and where a voice he hadn't heard before, even though it was his own, assured him that that was okay.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

The smell made Obi-Wan's eyes water: rotting flesh and the metallic bite of oxidizing blood that nipped at his nostrils, filling his dry mouth with its acrid scent. His stomach churned at the sharp heaviness that clung to the roof of his mouth, his tongue, the back of his throat, coating his sense of taste with cloying, suffocating, bloodsoaked stickiness.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

It was a huge relief to finally stagger into the cool interior of their small Council ship, and Anakin was glad to feel metal decking beneath his feet. To the young padawan, the mechanical was the familiar, and Anakin was admittedly often bored by the focus that Jedi put on nature and the natural world. It was hard to meditate when his fingers itched to dismantle the cooling unit in their quarters to see how it worked; almost impossible to stand still and watch the sun set with Qui-Gon when he could see so many ships flying across the darkening sky and tried to imagine what it would be like to pilot them all.

Sometimes Anakin felt like he couldn't _possibly_ be a JedI, could never live up to the standards that Qui-Gon held - _and_ _Obi-Wan, the __**perfect**__ Padawan!_ his mind reminded him snidely, and that spiteful thought alone should have been enough to warn him that he was veering into ever more dangerous territory, but the boy was deciding just then that it felt really good to _feel_ again, to not hide his thoughts, to allow himself to fully and finally feel his dislike for the Jedi who had refused to give up what was now Anakin's rightful place in Qui-Gon's life.

Maybe he wasn't cut out to be a Jedi, Anakin thought suddenly, but he certainly didn't want to give up the power that came with it. The small taste of the strength that he had felt in the warpstone fields was enough to convince him that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan couldn't possibly know everything about using the Force - how could they call something bad unless he used it to _**do**_ something bad?

It wasn't the power, he was sure. It was what it was _**used for **_that made it good or bad. And he would never use it for bad. He would use it to help Padmé, and his Mom, and even Qui-Gon and the other Jedi.

How could it be bad if he was only going to use it to help people?

**OoOoOoOoOo**

The howling made Obi-Wan's ears burn: the wailing of the damned, the dying, and those so unlucky to be far enough from death that they could still cry; it was their softly hopeless sobbing echoing even over the creaking of old wagon wheels that brought stinging tears to Obi-Wan's own eyes, tracking salty trails through the grime and dried blood crusted over his bruise-mottled cheekbones.

He wished he was far away from here. He wished they had never come here. His chest was tight, and the claws curled viciously in his hair were trembling as much as the exhausted shaking in his shoulders…

… and _**they**_ already knew what was coming.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

Qui-Gon was speaking, lowly and intensely, into the comm unit and Anakin was desperate to know what was being said; but Qui-Gon had gently and firmly settled him onto the flight couch and told him to stay put. Now the Jedi Master was just far enough away that Anakin couldn't hear his murmuring, but he could see that the tense lines in Qui-Gon's face had deepened into craggy furrows that heightened the shadows under his midnight eyes. His hair hung limp and lank, greasy with sweat and falling across his sagging shoulders in scraggly grey clusters. The frame that once appeared so powerful was now curled in on itself, appearing twisted and small.

Qui-Gon looked old, and Anakin didn't like it.

Wasn't the Force supposed to be all-powerful? How could those who served it as faithfully as Qui-Gon look as frail as his master did right now?

It wasn't right.

And it was all Obi-Wan's fault.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

Finally, the approaching cart parted the fog and rolled into view.

Obi-Wan looked once, very briefly, and leaned to the side to vomit.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

Anakin Skywalker watched unobtrusively, surprisingly - indeed, _suspiciously_ - silent for the normally boisterous boy: watching, brooding, observing as his master meditated.

He knew exactly what Qui-Gon was doing, and it irked him to no end.

Qui-Gon had ended his comm call and a new light had come into his eyes. Tall, determined, swiftly returned to the quintessential Jedi Master Anakin admired and loved, Qui-Gon Jinn was again a Man with a Purpose - and Anakin immediately realized that _**he**_ was not a part of that plan.

Blackness started to creep across his soul, but he hastened to squelch it, telling himself he was wrong, he _**must**_ be wrong, because there was _No. Way_. that Qui-Gon would even _**consider**_ leaving his Padawan behind.

His real Padawan, he meant.

"Are we leaving?" Anakin asked, trying to sound small and quiet and sad, but inside his spirit hope had kindled that they were leaving this place and its horrific memories behind.

Qui-Gon glanced at Anakin appraisingly, and the growing flames in Qui-Gon's steady eyes immediately extinguished the small embers of optimism Anakin was harboring.

"_**I**_ am going after Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said determinedly. "You are to wait here. Master Billaba was already on her way and will arrive very shortly." There was the faintest hint of a grim smile on Qui-Gon's thin lips, and the boy couldn't quite place the emotion behind it. Resolve, yet. Excitement, yes, that also, but there was something else …

"I want to come with you," Anakin responded immediately, large blue eyes wide and pleading as he shrugged off the mystery and instead set to swaying Qui-Gon as he had done so often and so easily in the past. "Please don't leave me here!"

But this time, Qui-Gon shook his head, brooking no room for argument. "It is too dangerous, Anakin. You'll be waiting here."

Anakin was in no mood to be coddled; his budding hope had been replaced by bitter rage at the happiness of him and Qui-Gon free to roam the galaxy and have amazing adventures sliding away.

"If it's 'too dangerous' then why are _**you**_ going back?" he demanded hotly, brows pulling down angrily as he tossed his head indignantly for emphasis.

"Obi-Wan needs me," Qui-Gon said simply, refusing to meet his emotion and thereby make the playing field level. Anakin had always been able to reach him there, but now Qui-Gon was a man with a purpose, and he moved quickly through the cabin filling a small travel case with anything he could think of for his self-appointed mission: first aid kits, rations, blankets. Even the emergency blaster in the weapon's locker was added to an empty loop in Qui-Gon's belt.

"But _**I**_ need you!" Anakin sputtered through his tears, his last ditch emotional appeal. It got Qui-Gon's full attention, but it wasn't enough. The Jedi Master fastened the catches on the travel case and knelt before the boy, placing his large hands gently on Anakin's trembling shoulders.

"I _**will**_ be back, Ani," he said with conviction, firmly believing the Force had more in store for them - for all three of them. He smiled, a crooked corner of his mouth lifting. "We have much to do, you and I."

A germ of an idea was forming in Anakin's brain and he sniffled, forcing away the tears, and struggled to school his expression into the Obedient Padawan look he'd picked up from Obi-Wan somewhere along the way, the one that assured Qui-Gon everything was fine.

"Okay, Qui-Gon," he said softly, allowing one last damp sniffle to escape. "I'll wait."

"Good boy." Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulders and rose, striding down the ramp with a last look and a wave, and sealing the hatch behind him.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

He hadn't eaten much of late, so it was mostly wracking dry heaves ripping through his aching and battered body, sending spirals of pain screaming through his broken arm. Through his misery and terror he heard his guards chuckle weakly though without conviction, and he knew they were barely masking their own queasiness.

In his short life, Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen many, many horrific things. This topped the list by far.

The frame of the old cart gleamed dull white in the moonlight, except for patches of brittle yellow dulling the surface randomly; it was formed from the ribcage of a large and long-dead animal, perhaps the same kind as the one relentlessly circling overhead, pale spires of long ribs arching upward to curl back toward the center where the creature's spine made up the base of the cart.

The body of the cart itself was made of just that - bodies. Bodies in various stages of decay and death, rotting, dripping, congealing; ashen faces twisted in similar grimaces and intermittently releasing moans of open-mouthed horror and shock. Obi-Wan could not tell if they were men, women, or manlike creatures as his guards were, so decayed was their flesh to a wasted, uniform grey. Unseeing pale eyes swiveled restlessly in cracked sockets and every so often a blind gaze would sweep over him, not seeing him, yet still sending physical shivers down his spine.

"What is this … atrocity?" he whispered but was ignored, and the cart grew ever closer, pulled by yet more of these walking dead - and Force, Obi-Wan wished they were dead, but he yet to learn that these were the Undying, locked forever in their inescapable torment. He saw that the corpse cart was attached to a yoke with two thick spike-ended poles laid across a long center pole. Pushed through their ribcages onto the poles were impaled more Undying, four to a beam, eight altogether as they cried and straggled and bled their way along the path, dragging the wailing cart behind them. Atop a hunched and sobbing creature serving as his bench was a man, crumpled and shrouded in black, the long cruel lash of his whip flicking out as a warning. The closer they got, the more horrendous the noise as the screeching and moaning drew nearer and nearer. The smell was overwhelming, and Obi-Wan forced down another bout of dry heaving with a rough swallow.

The cart drew level with their small group and slowed, and even the filtered essence of the Force Obi-Wan was able to receive cried and bucked in his soul, adding its own despairing wail of torment to the cacophony already beating against his ears.

The man atop the cart swiveled to look at Obi-Wan, his black eyes gleaming beneath his dark hood. Obi-Wan was frozen to the spot though he wanted to run, though he begged his feet to move. A pale clawed hand emerged and beckoned him to approach, to brave the sea of Undying twisting and bleeding in their captivity, reaching for him, trying to pull him into their midst, to drag him under in a sea of wailing death.

"_No…_" he whispered, suddenly wishing Makir had earlier simply killed him on the spot instead of saving him for _this_.

He backed into his captors involuntarily and was given a hard shove in the small of his back. Obi-Wan stumbled and tripped, tumbling into the writhing bodies with a hoarse scream. Rotting hands wrapped around him, pulling, tugging, swallowing him up in darkness. A small sound escaped his mouth, a gasp of fear that broke off from the unbelievable pressure building in his chest, a knot of horror that lodged beneath his sternum; his blood was thrumming, pulsing and throbbing and beating harshly against his broken humerus and sounding loudly in his ears.

Tears were running down his face, and he couldn't explain why, except that he was being eaten alive by the Dark, swallowed whole, every single part of him.

And there was no escape.

**OoOoOoOoOo**


	11. Turn Off the Sun

**Author's Note**: I am really trying to exercise self-control … during my unintentional internet-less hiatus imposed by a sulky computer, I started the sequel to the TPM Rewrite, and I am absolutely itching to post it … but I have way too many unfinished stories already in progress.

**Author's Story Note:** I thought I put this at the beginning… some of the elements in this story are from the tabletop game Warhammer, including the extremely unpleasant corpse cart, and some of the characters you'll meet later on. It's sort of a crossover, I guess, but I don't actually play Warhammer and know very little about it; the Muse was simply inspired by some of the figures and concepts. Hope that's okay…? Also please remember that the rating is partially for disturbing imagery: this one's not for squeamish.

Thanks in advance for reviewing! (hint, hint. lol)

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Eleven: Turn Off the Sun**

They had been plodding along for hours - or maybe days - when Obi-Wan heard:

"The name of this place, tasty one, is the Hunger Wood. Do not let your guard stray; the woods are always famished for fresh blood … "

Barely roused from his apathy by the Corpsemaster's voice directly above him, the Knight lifted dull grey eyes to listlessly survey the shrouded trees surrounding them on all sides as the moaning cart ambled on toward its destination; a place that Obi-Wan did not yet know, but if the manner of transport to get there was any indication, it was somewhere he wanted to be even less than the Hunger Wood.

As more of his intentionally deadened senses roused themselves now that he had allowed some small awareness to creep back in, Obi-Wan swallowed hard as he registered the sound of the heart still beating sluggishly in the rotting chest pressed against his ear: one of the many twisted bodies composing the frame of the cart on which he was currently bound. Ropes were tight against his neck, looping through the patches of exposed ribcage beneath him, and more thick twining around his slim waist and knees was wound within the Undying groaning and whimpering as they staggered along under his added weight.

Obi-Wan had glanced down once to see that rope binding his ankle was pulled taut through a bloody, gore-filled eye socket; he had dry-heaved wretchedly, then promptly shut down as much of his senses as he was able. It was the only thing he could think of to keep his mind from fragmenting into a million horrified pieces.

The Knight had also noticed flashes of misty white dancing around his vision, and he recalled seeing the same spectres when he, Qui-Gon, and Anakin had first trekked to the isolated village where their troubles had begun. At the time, Obi-Wan had brushed it off as fatigue and his imagination, but he saw now that he had _**not**_ been hallucinating: _wight_ was the word applied by the Corpsemaster to the wraithlike spirits darting through the shadows. Every so often a wisp of a spirit would settle on one of the bodies speared to the cart - excited, perhaps, to have found a fleshy host in which to dwell, but an agonized wail would inevitably screech from decaying lips as the wight discovered the body it now inhabited was inescapably tethered to the grotesque cart of dead. One ambitious wight darted for Obi-Wan, but a snap of the whip and a few hissed words from the Corpsemaster sent it skittering away again.

Obi-Wan tried not to reflect on what the words: "_This one's for the Master!_" meant.

At some point the road began winding upwards, and deep within Obi-Wan's fettered mind it registered that they had reached the mountains he had looked on from the distance a few nights before. Pockets of warpstone littered the ground sporadically, sucking any traces of light in their vicinity into vapid pools of blackness. The higher they ascended, the louder the moans of the Undying, and the fear in the air became so palpable Obi-Wan felt he was suffocating under the weight of dread being heaped upon his own carefully but barely controlled terror.

_Too much, this is too much_, he heard himself say, and the voice in his head that generally sounded quite reasonable to him now held an edge of unraveling to it. Not good.

An eerie greenish glow began to infiltrate Obi-Wan's line of sight, like a gangrenous fog rolling in, licking at the rocky ground beneath the slowly shredding feet of the Undying. The Corpsemaster clicked his tongue in satisfaction and the bound Knight risked a glance up - and up - and immediately realized that the fact that was absolutely cliché did not make the large, imposing fortress swelling out of the mountainside ahead of them any less unsettling.

Obi-Wan swallowed a shaky breath, still attempting to distance himself from where he was.

Distant from the soft give of putrid flesh beneath him.

Away from the unremitting groaning of the already dead and wails and whimpers of the still dying.

Far from the overpowering rot clinging to his senses as he tried not to dwell on the horror all around him.

He wasn't quite successful in his efforts, so the Knight blacked off another tiny part of his soul to compensate. _Don't think. Don't feel. Don't care. _

The macabre procession slowed and Obi-Wan looked up against as the structure grew larger, and he tried not to shiver at the dark winged shape overhead, its cackling cries ripping into his ears even over the constant crying all around him. In a moment of naivety he allowed himself to wonder how places, how _creatures_, like this could exist under the watchful eyes of the Jedi, but his pragmatic brain reminded him that those in the Order were few, far too few, to be and see everywhere.

The jagged tip of a splintered rib bone, coated in turgid black blood, split from the quivering flesh below him, popping up before his horrified eyes like a spring and the accompanying odor of decay made him bury his face into his shoulder with a sob. His frantic movement jostled the grating ends of his humerus and Obi-Wan clenched his teeth shut against a moan, unwilling to join the unending cacophany all around him.

Perhaps there was something to be said for Qui-Gon's stubborn insistence that the Order's current Initiate acceptance policy was too harsh, too short-sighted. Obi-Wan certainly found himself wishing right now that there were more Jedi to patrol the galaxy.

The thought of Qui-Gon almost made him moan again and Obi-Wan hastily closed off more of himself, trying weakly to keep his memories and emotions - his _**sanity**_ - under tight reign. _Stop it!_ he snapped at himself harshly, jamming his bottom lip between his teeth against a whimper that rumbled in the back of his throat.

Behind him, sensing - feeding off of - the Knight's mounting distress and horror, the Corpsemaster chuckled lowly.

"We're almost there, tasty one," it said, in its odd, reed-thin whistle.

"I'd actually like to get off now, please, if I could," Obi-Wan managed to mutter back, not bothering to turn or even lift his head. The creature behind him only chortled again and leaned forward to rake hungry, pleased fingers through Obi-Wan's damp ginger hair. The Knight shuddered at the long nails scraping across his scalp but tried to keep his body apathetically still, to betray none of the horror and hopelessness crashing over him.

"The master will be pleased with you, I've no doubt," were not comforting words he wanted to hear.

The gritted-teeth-inducing, laboriously advancing cart hit a bump in the road, severely jolting the bodies staked together to make the cart's frame, and the howling that rose up to surround Obi-Wan nearly deafened him. He would have slapped his hands against his ears had they not been bound tightly behind him. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to hide his mind deep within something, _anything_, any part of his training that could help shield him …

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

The first stanza was the hardest to swallow, and Obi-Wan knew _**that**_ didn't bode well for him, but it was really becoming quite difficult _**not**_ to be emotional after what he'd been through, beginning not with Qui-Gon rightfully choosing Anakin to save so Obi-Wan could dutifully stay behind to die (which apparently was now a little less imminent than the Knight had thought, as he was still alive to experience … whatever this was,) but on Naboo…

Obi-Wan swallowed, pushing the memories away, and tried to focus.

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

He'd memorized the Code years ago - both the one the current Council mandated all Jedi learn, and the version he'd discovered long ago, tucked away deep within the Archives: the original, he'd learned, and he often wondered why it had been changed...

_Emotion, yet peace._

_Ignorance, yet knowledge._

_Passion, yet serenity._

_Chaos, yet harmony._

_Death, yet the Force. _

To him - and to Qui-Gon, he knew - the original Code spoke more to his life, his heart, to his work and what he had done under the auspices of trying to keep peace.

Another section of splintered ribcage broke through, jabbing into his side painfully. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth.

_There is peace._

He felt a small trickle of his own blood dribble lazily down his flank where the bones beneath had pierced his skin.

_There is peace_.

He couldn't get past that line. Couldn't say more of the Code when the _**very first sentence**_ was ringing so hollowly through his mind.

_Overcome,_ the Knight demanded of himself sharply. _Believe it! There is peace._

_Say it again:_

_There is - _

The cart rolled to a stop.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

Obi-Wan Kenobi would soon be tasked with reading to his new master, recounting events and the history of places, and within those hated books he would learn that the mountain they had climbed bore the name Cripple Peak, and the fortress city was called Nagashizzar.

The mountain itself was formed of jagged and unnaturally twisted spouts of rock that greedily and incessantly tore scraps of decaying skin from the feet of the Undying tethered to the Corpsemaster's cart. Gloomily foreboding, the mountain overlooked a black lake that glinted dimly in the moonlight, still and unmoving and undisturbed even by the breeze that ruffled Obi-Wan's sweaty hair and brought the unending odor of putrefying rot to his nostrils. None lived in or touched the black lake, though small figures could often be seen swarming its shores, chipping away at the warpstone deposits that littered the ground there, and dragging their haul back inside the winding labyrinth of passages that made up the lower levels of Nagashizzar.

When he raised his eyes into the darkness, the Knight could see the silhouettes of hundreds of towers erupting against the darkness, and he would learn that these housed libraries and laboratories, and barracks for the great army soon to be amassed therein.

The monstrous creatures guarding the ebony gates he was pushed through would tell him - if they could speak - that they were called 'golems', created from rock and bone and nearly invincible. Obi-Wan shuddered as he passed the soulless creatures, using his good arm to clasp his dirty and tattered robe tighter against his shaking body. Though the Knight was dismayed he felt this way, Obi-Wan found himself welcoming the pain from numerous injuries inflicted upon him; for now, it was all that was keeping him grounded as he was prodded through large halls filled with creatures and beings of darkness. It reminded him, in a way, of his own encounters with the Dark Side - on Naboo with the Sith, but even more so when he'd been tested on Dagobah. He'd been sent, literally, into Darkness then, and that's where he was again: submerged, choking, _drowning_ in so much darkness.

_Hold on. Keep it together. _

Obi-Wan tightened his grasp on his damaged arm, the blinding shockwave of pain erupting from the wound there swiftly clearing the panicked thoughts crowding against his brain.

_Focus. Wait for your opportunity. _

They hadn't brought him here to kill him, he was slowly becoming certain of that.

What they _**had**_ brought him here for, however, wasn't a thought he wanted to dwell on.

The loud clanging of the huge doors closing behind him, sealing him in, was like someone had finally turned off the last of the weakened, struggling light of the sun, submerging him in blackness and trying to unravel his forced calm, but Obi-Wan clamped down hard on the terror winding in past his defenses, setting his jaw firmly and straightening his aching shoulders.

He did not have access to the Light, but he would not be ruled by Darkness.

_Keep it together, Kenobi, _he repeated to himself. _Focus. _

He hugged his horribly injured body a little tighter, gasping under his breath as tears sprang to his eyes. Dark shapes skittered along in the shadowy recesses of the corridor, whispers and snarls, filling Obi-Wan's ears with guttural and unfamiliar mutterings and hissing. It was a frightening place, rank and vile, and Obi-Wan was grateful that Anakin was not here in his place.

He realized as he trudged onward that he subconsciously expected it to be frigid, as cold in temperature as his joyless surroundings. Instead, the heat was stifling, and the Knight could feel beads of sweat rolling down his slick skin, dampening his clothes and stinging scrapes and cuts and gory tears in his flesh.

His footsteps were loud in his ears even though he trod on a runner stained deeply crimson. At first Obi-Wan's carefully distracted mind thought that the fabric had been purposely dyed, but as his eyes adjusted to the oddly emerald-tinted darkness and he nearly tripped on an outstretched hand still sluggishly shedding its lifeblood onto the carpet, he realized there were small spots of cream color visible here and there, and it dawned on him that at one point this runner must have been taupe.

_Oh, Force. What kind of hell is this?_

The doors before him were pulled open, and Obi-Wan soon learned the answer.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

Sitting quietly in the shadows, he watched from darkness as the Jedi was led in: watched, weighed, and measured. And although his Jedi was good … although he was strong …

His fist clenched, cracked and crumbling nails digging into his palm. He had been too weak to know for certain until the Jedi was right before him, but now he could clearly assess the man before him, and his withered heart tripped in his chest in despair:

He was the wrong one.

This one was a fighter. A negotiator. A man of many strengths, but not the Weakness he sought. The Weakness he knew was here, nearby, within his grasp: the One of the Prophesy. He had mistakenly assumed that any of the Light users would do, and now he bitterly saw his flawed miscalculation.

This Jedi could amuse him, yes - and he would - but it was the other he wanted, _needed_, to achieve his end. He cast out his senses, drawing on his network spread vast and wide, and was ruefully pleased to see that the other Jedi was already moving, isolated, determined and worried; he would be easily apprehended, and a swift mental message was immediately sent that the Jedi be collected and remanded to Nagashizzar.

He turned his attention to the Jedi standing quietly flanked by his guards, the man's face a delicious mask of taut pain and hastily buried acknowledgement of the horror and death all around him.

A smile twitched at his lips, his plans already mutating, changing, _evolving_ into something far better than he had even originally planned.

And this Jedi was already infected.

Excellent.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

Look how easy it is to review! Try it! I'm not saying it'll make me update faster ... I'm not _saying_ that ... lol..


	12. Hunger Strike

So, 112 people read the latest chapter for New Arrangements, and 3 people left comments. *sniffle* reminded me why sometimes there's just no rush to update… but for those 3 people, I thank you very much, especially fairy goatmother who has been following it since the beginning. Thank you, thank you! :D please encourage authors and take a sec to leave a review or even a just a short hi. It makes a difference, trust me. J

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Twelve: Hunger Strike**

Surrounded by the implacable stone of the mountain fortress, immersed in blackness, and cut off from the Light and people he cared for deeply, Obi-Wan Kenobi was beginning to feel a frigid iciness creep across his soul, slowly working to dim his treasured memories of camaraderie, of laughter, of friendship; even of love. The fading Knight would quietly admit to himself that despite strict Council warnings against it, it really was impossible _**not**_ to love; how could he not when he had grown up with Qui-Gon's amused chuckle, Yaddle's sweet gentleness, and Mace's wry '_I'm just going to pretend I can't see what you're up to so I don't have to report you'_ blind eye to young Obi-Wan's mischievous explorations throughout the Temple?

He couldn't not love them. It was that simple. He'd even been developing a sort of regard for Anakin - nothing that would ever rival his former master's admiring adoration, of course, but a softening at least of his initial harsh skepticism of the boy.

It all seemed so very far away now, buried beneath the layers of pain and horror Obi-Wan had existed in for days now, days that he was admittedly surprised were granted to him since he was supposed to have been executed in the warpstone field near Elika's dead body.

In moments of weakness of late, he almost wished he _**had**_ died then…

… when he thought about the abhorrent feel of spongy, putrefying bodies below him on the corpse cart he'd traveled to Nagashizzar in.

… when he remembered the long, agonizing march to his temporary prison after Qui-Gon had caved - as he needed to - and chosen to save Anakin.

… when the Unifying Force showed Obi-Wan glimpses of the future that was coming for him …

… and right now, of course.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, trying to force his dry throat to function properly, the saliva at the back of his mouth scouring down his esophagus like acid as his dehydrated body rebelled against him. He couldn't think of the last time he'd had water and he didn't want to; he focused instead on remaining stoically still, trying to ignore what was happening to his weakened body.

_Please just kill me_, he thought, and he knew he should be ashamed for it but he couldn't quite muster the will for penitence. Obi-Wan shuddered as wispy fingers ghosted across his naked flesh, poking, prodding, healing in ways that seemed to do more harm than good, leaving him feeling as though there must be dark patches cropping up across his skin to match the pollution he felt inside. Energy was poured into him, but it wasn't the clear, clean, supportive warmth of Light; this new strength slid and snaked through his body, coiling through his limbs and winding through his ribcage and neck and hips in a way that was both agonizing and discomfortingly reviving.

His broken humerus had been set, wrapped, and nestled in a scratchy, rough sling; his multitude of dripping cuts patched; the clammy, clotted slice across his flank stitched with dirty thread, and his multi-colored array of bruises swathed in salve and soft yet filthy cloths.

It hadn't escaped Obi-Wan's notice that there was nothing clean in this entire place, including himself.

He had been led from the throne room without directly encountering the dark soul he could sense watching him, evaluating him from the shadows; the bloody runner was sodden beneath his feet and the only color breaking up the sleek black rock of the floors and walls surrounding him, suffocating him with their oppressive smothering of light and the sweltering humid warmth of the air. The Knight had stood between his guards as tall as his battered body was able, eyebrow arched questioningly as he silently challenged his captor to make the first move. By some unspoken command, skittering and snuffling but vaguely human servants had suddenly hastened to remove him and taken him below to a small, cold room amidst the living areas where they'd stripped his grimy and saturated clothes from him and washed and bound his wounds.

It was even darker down here; the struggling candlelight barely pierced the darkness despite its best efforts. Obi-Wan knew nothing of his surroundings but the three distinct sets of hands tending to him, and he knew naught of the owners of the hands other than that at times they were disturbingly solid but could also be as instantly diaphanous as an untouchable wisp.

Having his injuries tended to - as uncomfortable and invasive as the process was - bolstered Obi-Wan's flagging spirits and black thoughts of waiting and even wishing for death slipped away to be replaced by plans for escape. _The future is always in motion,_ he reminded himself. Getting out of the fortress alone without access to the Light or his lightsaber in his hand would be difficult at best, but he'd been through worse.

Given enough time, he was sure he could think of an occasion or ten.

Obi-Wan smiled grimly, his mind resolutely distracting itself from the present as it swiftly sorted through various ideas and strategies; his determination was stolen away in bits and pieces, however, as the ghostly touches of the humanoids circling him continued to scrape over his skin, stroking and caressing and examining. Obi-Wan felt their harsh wheezing breaths sliding against his neck and his thigh and the small of his back as they perused him like carnivores over rotting carrion, stretching to poke _here_, stooping to prod _there._

"Stop that," the Knight protested irritably, knowing it wouldn't do any good but unable to allow this skittering minor invasion of his body without an objection even as he dryly acknowledged that their insistent jabbing had long since passed being a _minor invasion_.

It didn't help and they clawed at him harder, drawing a hiss from between clenched teeth as suddenly very solid fingers dug into his hair and twisted, bringing involuntary tears to his eyes and a gasp to his lips.

"Stop it!" he panted, reaching to sound firm and authoritative, and if he could have put some Light behind it, he would have, but with only Dark in his reach his almost laughably weak voice would have to suffice.

"_You belong to Nagashizzar now," _a chorus of sniggering voices answered him breathily, airy and solid at the same time, and their dancing fingers skated over his exposed skin, digging into his back, scraping over his sling and up his bicep, making him grit his teeth at the pressure on the reddened flesh. The trailing sensation continued as they prodded at the long, ugly scar that wound down his neck to end in a jagged twist below his shoulderblades. "_You belong to __**us**_."

Obi-Wan straightened proudly, jaw set, pointedly ignoring the hand against his navel that drifted inquisitively lower. "I belong to no one."

Somewhere in the blackness beyond a door swung open, and the sense of something massive, oppressive, _terrifying_ infiltrated Obi-Wan's perception: a huge dark shape against lighter shadows, strapped into but barely contained by creaking and rotting leather and metal, with twin points of glowing emerald burning from eye sockets a good meter above Obi-Wan's cropped ginger spikes. A deep laugh broke across the air and the servants surrounding Obi-Wan gasped and squealed in horror and scraped away as swiftly as their twisted forms would allow, leaving the Knight straining into the darkness to catch a better glimpse of the malevolent presence he had sensed before in the throne room that had now reentered his space.

"We both know that's not true, little Jedi," a voice murmured, low and melodious and soothing, with an otherworldly depth to it that thrummed under Obi-Wan's skin. Obi-Wan's mind screamed a warning of _danger!_, and the rest of him was inclined to agree.

"Come now," were the next words to sound in his mind and ears, "and walk with me."

His clothes had been taken with nothing else provided to him, but Obi-Wan was determined not to display the vulnerability he felt. He had played this game many times before with tyrants who wished to use cruelty and mocking to display their superiority - he also knew that this creature may very well be his best hope for finding a way out of this darkness.

Grimly, the Knight squared his shoulders and followed, using the enormous being at his side as a guide as they navigated the shadows.

"All of us have a purpose, little Jedi."

Obi-Wan's lips twisted, the hallway runner soft and uncomfortably sticky beneath his bare feet. "Yes, I know," he retorted calmly, adding, "_**My**_ purpose actually involves being somewhere other than here, doing things other than talking with you, so if you don't mind, the front door, please …?" the Knight trailed off with an expectant pause.

His sarcasm fell on an expectedly amused audience and the answering chuckle surprised him. "And yet here you are, little Jedi. So perhaps you are wrong."

Obi-Wan didn't have a reply for that so he stayed silent, walking alongside the massive shape dwarfing him in the dark. Their path led them down many halls, far-spaced pinpricks of ever-distant torches set in the walls their only illumination yet the creature guiding Obi-Wan knew exactly where they were going and his heavy, scraping bootfalls were consistent and sure. Eventually they reached a large set of double doors which opened easily before them, and the pair stepped into the light. Obi-Wan almost wept at the assault on his eyes, but it was a joyous reacquainting after being long in darkness.

He waited impatiently for the brittle pricks of light to recede as his vision slowly cleared; from what his squinting gaze could tell, they stood in a large library. The light of many candles cast a golden glow over bookshelves that reached floor to ceiling and danced teasingly off golden jewelry, dishes, and other artifacts set out for display. This room felt completely different than the others the Knight had seen thus far; the heat was still stifling as it was throughout the fortress, but this place - at first sight - lacked the oppressive pall of death that hung over the rest of Nagashizzar like a suffocating shroud.

His eyes finally having adjusted to light, the Jedi turned to face his host squarely, and his words died soundless on dry lips.

On Naboo, when the Jedi had first encountered the Zabrak Sith Obi-Wan had eventually slain, the then-Padawan had been momentarily unnerved by the Sith's intentionally grotesque appearance; but even prior to that meeting in the Nubian hangar, Obi-Wan had seen things in his life that would have made an untrained being quail. He'd recovered, however, and after a long and draining battle, sliced the monster in half.

By himself, after Qui-Gon had abandoned him.

_Not 'abandoned_,' Obi-Wan corrected himself instinctively, automatically. _Reprioritized and decided he was needed more elsewhere._

Obi-Wan realized that he was distracting himself from the present with battle humor - a built-in defense mechanism he couldn't quite get over - and grimly forced himself to ignore his battered, naked body, stand tall, and look this _horror_ in its glowing green eyes.

_Nagash_ was the name of his captor, the one who had plucked him from an immediate and probably far more merciful death and brought him here to his mountain fortress. Whatever creature he had once been Obi-Wan could not fathom: vaguely humanoid based on his structure, now wasted away to mere shreds of flesh clinging to a gargantuan, gleaming skeletal body wrapped in massive metal armor. The same jade glow that illuminated the path to Nagashizzar lit the creature's body from within, giving it an eerie, otherworldly appearance - apart from the fact that it - he? - was a giant walking skeleton, of course.

_Ugly bastard_, Obi-Wan thought, raising an eyebrow as the two regarded each other silently; again Obi-Wan felt his mettle was being measured, and he didn't much like the appraising tilt to the fleshy bits clinging to Nagash's mouth.

When Nagash spoke again, it was in a voice low and hypnotic to the listener. "I have decided your present purpose," he rumbled, and Obi-Wan quirked a grin he wasn't altogether feeling.

"Release me?" he questioned drolly. "I have a lot to do, I'm afraid, and I can't stay, despite your incredible hospitality."

Something that might have been a laugh stuttered through crumbling grey teeth but his sarcasm was again ignored. A wave of a heavily studded gauntlet drew Obi-Wan's gaze to follow its arcing path. "Look around, little Jedi. Before you lies the history of Nagash and of Nagashizzar, and the telling of the end of the world."

Obi-Wan obediently glanced around; in truth, he was fascinated by the ancient library, and he noted with intrigued curiosity that the majority of the numerous shelves were empty: only a few dozen brittle books lined one small space of a shelf. The library, it seemed, just as Nagashizzar itself, was a display of fading opulence and dimming glory, ghosts now roaming the halls instead of the living.

"You already know the end of your world?" Obi-Wan asked dryly, awed despite himself at the waning grandeur surrounding him. "Doesn't that make every day incredibly boring?"

His comments were ignored. "You will tend my history, little Jedi," Nagash informed him lowly, his jaw clicking as bone scraped against bone. "You shall be the keeper of my lore until it is time for you to fulfill your higher purpose."

"Ah, yes, again with my 'purpose," Obi-Wan replied with a succinct nod. "And what would you know of my purpose?"

"More than you can comprehend, little Jedi," was the immediate reply. Nagash inclined his skull in a manner Obi-Wan thought was meant to be gracious. "Take the first book, and read."

"Thanks, but I don't really do the blind obedience thing," Obi-Wan waved him off. "And as I've already said multiple times, I really do have other places to be … "

"Then I will have the other Jedi killed upon his arrival," Nagash said simply.

Obi-Wan's mouth turned down dryly even as he swallowed against the sudden chill that rushed through his stiff limbs. Qui-Gon was coming here? Obi-Wan didn't know whether to weep for joy or moan in dismay that his master hadn't left him behind after all. He settled for clenching his jaw tightly and resolving to watch for any opportunity to escape and warn Qui-Gon away.

"How about I read?" he suggested wryly, and Nagash's broken teeth stretched into an approving grin. More curious than compelled, Obi-Wan moved steadily over the thickly-carpeted floor to retrieve the first book from the row. The light of the library made him keenly aware of his lack of clothing, and he kept his gaze firmly away from his mottled flesh and the smearing of red across his skin that didn't entirely belong to him but was left as a reminder of his grisly journey to Nagashizzar aboard the corpse cart.

He reached out with his right hand; as soon as his slim fingers graced the book's binding Obi-Wan shuddered: something was _off_ …

He peered carefully at the book as it fell open in his palm, and a deep revulsion began to grow in his stomach. The pages were fashioned from flesh, likely human, the writing filling page after page with smooth lines of crimson that had darkened over time. Obi-Wan almost dropped the book, but the threat against Qui-Gon was still loud in his ears.

"Read," Nagash encouraged, the warning clear in his tone.

Obi-Wan gingerly settled the gruesome volume on a low table, a little awkwardly with his left hand trapped against his chest in its sling, and shivered as his fingers slid under the soft pages and turned.

"And a plague shall be released upon the land," he began, but a flash of blinding white cut across his vision as lightning sliced mercilessly through his skull. Obi-Wan cried aloud and staggered; he would have slumped to his knees on the carpet but he managed to hook an arm on the table to keep himself barely upright. The Knight would soon learn well the consequences for disobedience and be more pliable and ready to follow orders, but for now he shot a hateful glance at Nagash.

"I may spare the other Jedi since you've demonstrated your willingness to obey," Nagash informed him, "but know that his life hangs upon your obedience." A slow smile slid across the creature's face. "These are the forbidden tomes, cursed to punish any mortal that would dare to lay eyes on them. To simply speak the words aloud is worth a thousand sorrows. And yet you, little Jedi, will indeed be my history's keeper for the present." The smile widened hungrily, hatefully. "Read it again," he commanded.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth. "'And a plague shall be released upon the - '" Another bolt of agony streaking through his already overburdened frame and this time he sank to the floor, twitching and swallowing convulsively to gasp past the worst of it. He couldn't do this … he couldn't …

"Again," Nagash commanded mercilessly, and Obi-Wan thought of Qui-Gon miserably.

"A-and a … pl…plague," Obi-Wan whispered, nearly senseless from the torment but somehow aware enough to clamp his jaw shut forcefully when Nagash knelt beside him, his looming presence blocking out the light and bringing the clogging smell of death to overwhelm his senses.

"Soon the world will know this plague, for none shall be left untouched," the creature murmured, and he wrapped his skeletal fingers over Obi-Wan's shoulder tightly. His excitement was palpable. "A plague to swell the ranks of my armies, to fill Nagashizzar with the loyal once more."

He smiled at Obi-Wan, cold and heartless. "You ask me what I know of your purpose? This I say to you, Obi-Wan Kenobi… "

Nagash waited until Obi-Wan lifted cloudy grey eyes to face him before pronouncing:

"Though you might now wish for death, it will not yet be granted to you. Not until you no longer ache for it, But once you have decided to live again."

Nagash's grotesque smile widened, his cold fingers digging deep into Obi-Wan's skin.

"You will choose to live just in time to be released from this life by the one who is your closest friend."

**OoOoOoOoOo**

You know what makes authors update faster? That's right! Reviews! Lol… Seriously, I'd love to hear from you, especially for an older story like this one. Thanks for reading!


	13. Fade Into You

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Thirteen: Fade into You**

Anakin Skywalker was well used to feeling angry, frustrated, and annoyed.

These emotions were as normal to him as the rising of the suns each morning, comforting in their own way for their frequency and familiarity. What he _**wasn't**_ used to was experiencing those familiar emotions these days without having someone at his shoulder immediately to tell him that everything was okay, that he needed to be calm and rational, that he ought to _think _and make a clear-headed judgment. No one here to pat his shoulder or soothe his anxiety as he searched desperately for his master meant that those feelings had free reign in his mind, tripping over themselves messily as the padawan trudged through the muddy underbrush, using abilities newly yet unwittingly enhanced by the warpstone surrounding him to try and track the path Qui-Gon had taken without being detected by his master.

Anger, frustration, impatience, impulsiveness; these weren't unusual for him to feel. Anakin had been subject to many of life's harsher injustices and even at his young age he had tackled them head on, his natural buoyancy and resilience of spirit often seeing him through. As he got older, however, his relentlessly cheerful determination was slowly bleeding away to be replaced by aggravation and aggression.

It helped somewhat to feel the Force guiding him, even if he hadn't always known that was what it was. And now that Qui-Gon was his master, he was learning all sorts of ways to focus his powers and control his feelings. Qui-Gon didn't teach him much about anger, though, except that the Jedi thought it was _**bad.**_ And fear was bad too, Qui-Gon said, but it was fear and that rush of adrenaline that had made Anakin the best pod racer on Tatooine, and him being the best and winning the race had helped Qui-Gon get the parts he needed from Watto to fix Padme's ship and save Naboo, so Anakin once again had to wonder how it could be bad if the results were so good.

It didn't make any sense. Light power, dark power? Power was just _**power**_. Wasn't it how you _**used**_ it that made it good or bad?

Somewhere behind the padawan who had become lost in his musings came the sounds of a branch snapping under a heavy boot; Anakin spun hastily, his wide eyes trying to track the source, but there was no one to be seen. Biting his lip anxiously, Anakin closed his eyes and stretched out with the Force: he'd lost his concentration, and Qui-Gon's trail.

Not good.

After a few fearful moments he was able to peer through the shadows of the Force and pick out his master's essence, blazing with bright determination, and Anakin hurriedly adjusted his course to follow. It was more difficult in this forest to focus on the Light; there was more darkness filtering the Force than he was used to in the wide open spaces of Tatooine or the calm, peaceful halls of the Temple.

Anakin's sporadic thoughts returned to Obi-Wan. The Knight hadn't been far from his mind since Qui-Gon had chosen Anakin over Obi-Wan, and although Anakin knew Qui-Gon had made the right choice, it still made him uneasy that Obi-Wan was definitely missing, probably dead, and yet Qui-Gon had insisted on going back to look for him instead of focusing on more important things, like their next mission. Anakin had liked Obi-Wan well enough, though he staunchly refused to _**ever**_ let himself forget Obi-Wan's hesitance at bringing Anakin to Coruscant, or the Knight being against making Anakin Qui-Gon's Jedi apprentice.

Or perhaps, most hateful of all, the way Obi-Wan had stood so near Padme at the Nubian celebration, and the way she had smiled at him the beautiful smile of an angel that should have been Anakin's alone.

He would _**never**_ forgive Obi-Wan for _**that**_.

Nor for Qui-Gon's attachment to Obi-Wan. All of Qui-Gon's talk about how _Anakin_ needed to stop worrying about his mom, Anakin reflected bitterly, but here Qui-Gon was breaking apart over Obi-Wan, falling so far from the proper Jedi Master Anakin was so proud of having. Even now, when Obi-Wan had probably already gone on to join the Force or whatever Jedi did when they died, Qui-Gon still pined for him, still believe he must somehow be alive.

And now it was _Anakin's_ job to bring Qui-Gon back.

Anakin stifled a sigh. It didn't look good for their image as the Order's best Master/Padawan team when Qui-Gon lost his focus. He'd become much better at being serious, didn't laugh or joke as much, or get into trouble hardly at all with the Council any more. They were the _**perfect**_ team, and they should be getting the missions with the highest chance at being recognized for their work. Anakin especially wanted the Senator to see him: he knew that Palpatine was watching, and that he was Padme's most trusted advisor, and Anakin anxiously hoped word of his exploits would reach the queen's ear.

A chill ghosted across the boy's neck and he glanced around, startled, trying to recall if the forest had been this dark before. Uneasily and belatedly he remembered how unsettled both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had been when they'd tracked through here days earlier and Anakin quickened his pace, unconsciously trying to outrun the shadows he suddenly imagined were right on his heels.

A burst of panic clawed at his mind as the forest seemed to close in around him, and Qui-Gon wasn't there this time to slow him down. His breathing sped up until it hitched painfully at his chest and Anakin doubled over, arms tight around his middle, feeling like he couldn't breathe, he was sure he couldn't breathe -

A large hand landed on his shoulder and Anakin straightened reflexively in surprise, the haze clearing from his mind and a shaky laugh jumping to his lips as he forced a smile and turned, a dozen explanations and platitudes already springing to his lips as he opened his mouth to explain to Qui-Gon …

But it wasn't Qui-Gon standing behind him.

Anakin turned to flee and made it two steps before he tripped on a root that jutted out to snatch him as he stumbled in his terror. His head struck a jagged rock hard, and laughing shadows pulled him down into darkness.

OoOoOoOoOo

Qui-Gon Jinn cast about warily with the Force as he approached the small village the Jedi had previously found. The Jedi Master was unaware that the warpstone all around him was enhancing his trepidation; all Qui-Gon knew was that it was a struggle to keep his lightsaber sheathed and his emotions calmed as he cautiously surveyed the town square from his cloaked position on the outskirts.

There was no activity he could see but Qui-Gon did not drop his guard. These people had taken Obi-Wan from him. They had beat him and set to kill him and Qui-Gon _had let it happen. _Qui-Gon had _watched_.

The inconsolable ache in the Jedi's heart closed his throat, stole his breath. What had he been thinking? Why hadn't he fought? What more ought he have done?

He had saved the Chosen One.

The thought should have been less bitter to swallow.

But it wasn't.

For the second time, he had made the choice that had saved the Chosen One; for the second time he had abandoned his friend to a painful, solitary death. Obi-Wan had escaped the first time: not unscathed, but at least alive.

Qui-Gon wasn't sure about this time.

His fingers twitched unconsciously toward his weapon. It would be foolish, he reasoned, to approach without his light saber in hand. He was only protecting himself; it'd be folly _**not**_ to.

But Qui-Gon soon found he need not have bother, and a frustrated growl, tinged with hysteria he should have heard in his own voice but didn't, broke from his throat when a frantic and harried search of all buildings confirmed it:

The village was completely empty.

There were no signs of life other than the fountain in the middle of the square, cracked and crumbling to grey powder, the basin filled to brim with bright red blood.

OoOoOoOoOo

The floor, Obi-Wan had hazily decided, was actually not all that uncomfortable, despite the fact that his sling - as well as the damaged arm it was supposed protecting - had ended up underneath his crumpled body, and that the naked parts of said body not half slumped on the thick library carpet were complaining about the cold from the ancient stone floors creeping up into his exposed flesh.

Obi-Wan didn't have the energy to do much other than think, so that is what he did, occupying his mind as he conserved and rebuilt his strength. Nagash had demanded that he obey or risk Qui-Gon being killed upon arrival, and the Knight wondered if he had unwittingly gasped out an agreement, or it was just Nagash's foolhardy assumption that Obi-Wan was that pliable and Qui-Gon that weak.

And then Nagash had added the stipulation that Obi-Wan must read to him from archaic books that made the Jedi's head feel like it was splintering just to look at them. Carved into flesh, written in blood, Nagash had proudly called them _the telling of the end of the world… _Obi-Wan considered the plague Nagash had bid him to read about, wondered its implications and if it was history past or yet to be written.

The chill that danced down his spine cautioned the Knight that there were bigger things happening here than he and Qui-Gon had realized. Shakily, Obi-Wan pushed himself to his knees, ripples of pain rattling around his skull as he shifted position and vertigo swung in to greet him. He really should just lie back down …

"Giving up?" he chided himself dryly, his thin voice sounding small and far away to his own ears. _Well, it's not like I don't have an excuse,_ he answered himself reasonably. _It's been a really shitty week._

And that made Obi-Wan laugh, a helpless chuckle that lodged behind his teeth, and he allowed his natural tenacity to lend a little strength to his weakened limbs as his curiosity got the better of him. He hooked his good arm on the table and levered himself upright just enough that he could snag the still-open tome and haul it off the table; it landed beside him with a soft _plop!_ that made his queasy stomach do another quarter turn.

Obi-Wan managed a seated position and pulled the dusty book into his lap warily, trying to steel himself for the mental onslaught he knew was coming. The Knight grit his teeth and looking down, grimly focusing on the words swimming before his tired eyes as he tried to read past the knives driving meaty gouges into his brain. The effect of the tome was still agonizing, but somehow a little less so without the presence of Nagash nearby to empower everything surrounding the necromancer on to greater evil.

Obi-Wan quickly found the passage he sought, the chill that had started in his limbs slowly washing over him as he read hastily.

_And a plague shall be released upon the land_

_The ranks of Nagashizzar will swell with undead_

_None shall be spared. Nehekhara will be overwhelmed_

_And Alcadizzar shall be returned in chains to face_

_Judgment. The Ritual of Waking will begin _-

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from the script writing itself across his mind, digging his whitened knuckles against his clenched eyelids in a useless attempt to filter the white light and pain driving against them relentlessly. Horror gnawed at him as the words he'd read rattled around his brain: if there was _**any**_ chance this cryptic "plague" was what they now stood on the cusp of …

Though the lighting in the library was already dim, Obi-Wan felt like a shadow fell over him, chilling his flesh and tensing his muscles. He turned questioningly to the arched doorway where his _host_ was watching him; Nagash's burning eyes trailed down the fully exposed scar tracking across his shoulderblades and lower and Obi-Wan felt his cheeks burn self-consciously at its ugliness.

"Come, we have a visitor," Nagash announced casually, and Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow pointedly and gestured to his naked body.

Nagash laughed, low and rumbling. "Oh little Jedi," he murmured gleefully, "you have no modesty left to protect."

That was true. But it wasn't his bare flesh Obi-Wan was concerned about Qui-Gon seeing; rather, a sudden and fiercely protective desire pulled at him that Qui-Gon not see the full extent of the physical damage that had been done to the Knight. That Qui-Gon _**must not**_ be permitted to add more to his already guilt-laden burden over choosing Anakin.

Obi-Wan would not let his master be made any weaker in the eyes of this monster for the pity that would fill his eyes as he looked upon his crumpled friend and former student.

"Come," Nagash said again, sounding bored already - _as if a giant walking skeleton necromancer could ever actually __**be**__ bored_, Obi-Wan thought wryly.

"Master," Obi-Wan interjected quietly, deferentially, and _**that**_ got Nagash's attention. The massive, crumbling creature smiled, a curved grin that bared his decaying teeth as he showed his pleasure. He turned his full attention to Obi-Wan as the Knight lowered his head fractionally and uttered a single, submissive,

"Please."

OoOoOoOoOo

Nagash gestured for Obi-Wan to kneel by his boots amidst the scattering of skulls slewed across the floor of the large, black stone-walled chamber the necromancer grandly used as his 'throne room.' Obi-Wan did so without protest, ever aware of the potential danger to Qui-Gon, sinking into the damp carpet and trying not to wince as the knees of his newly acquired breeches immediately stained red.

Obi-Wan's stomach clenched horribly as the doors swung open; he was anxious to see Qui-Gon, couldn't believe he'd made it as far as Nagashizzar, yet a little bit of hope sprung to life at the thought that Qui-Gon was _**here**_ and there was a chance they could stop this horror before it went any further …

As Nagash's "guest" was shown, Obi-Wan realized with terrifying, retrospective clarity that he had made a grievously wrong assumption that Qui-Gon Jinn was the Jedi being brought to Nagashizzar:

Anakin Skywalker stood before them, flanked by two dark elves, a look of excited curiosity dancing on his youthful face.

OoOoOoOoOo


	14. Dead Souls

Man, Anakin is such a jerk in this fic. Lol. But he's so fun to write that way. XD

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Fourteen: Dead Souls**

"Obi-Wan! You're alive!"

It would slowly dawn on Obi-Wan, later, locked within his own mind in a desperate bid to keep the last shreds of his sanity intact, that although there was marked relief in the boy's tone, Anakin Skywalker did not, in fact, look at all happy to see him.

This may have been an illusion created by Obi-Wan's fragmented mind - the Knight would never be sure - but as he knelt at Nagash's feet in a congealing pool of crimson, he watched as a look of fascinated curiosity stole across Anakin's face as the Padawan took in the awesome horror that was the necromancer Nagash - a massive, ten-foot tall skeleton wrapped in warped and blackened armor, lit from within by an eerie green glow that illuminated his empty eye sockets with emerald flame and highlighted the gaps in his crumbling teeth.

Obi-Wan had been horrified by the desiccated, living corpse . Anakin was … curious.

The Knight held his breath between tensely clenched teeth, his warm hand unthinkingly finding the stringy tendons clinging to the necromancer's forearm as he reached for Nagash's arm: They were in so, _so_ much danger at this moment that Obi-Wan didn't need to have the Force screaming a warning in his ear to feel it.

"Master," he said softly, "this is just a boy … "

A slow smile cracked Nagash's face, and Obi-Wan felt acid pool in his stomach as he realized this was no misstep, no mistake: this had been the plan all along.

"No, my dear Knight," Nagash rumbled, and Obi-Wan felt the rotting flesh below his hand tighten as the necromancer clenched his fist excitedly, felt the first dreadful stirrings of déjà vu as he heard the same words but spoken by another voice that seemed so long ago.

"No, Obi-Wan," Nagash repeatedly softly, for Obi-Wan's horrified ears only:

"This is _**the**_ boy."

OoOoOoOoOo

Nagash, lord of Nagashizzar, was well aware that the man sunk into the sodden runner by his black warpstone throne was a brave warrior, noble and willing to sacrifice his entire being for justice: the curving scar across his back spoke for the young Knight who preferred to keep his accomplishments to himself.

It was because of these qualities, so often admired, that Kenobi wouldn't do at all.

The Jedi had proven to be useful thus far, yes, and would continue to be so, but the catalyst Nagash had long awaited now stood before him, wide blue eyes rounded in perfect curiosity, the hunger for power already burning below the surface of the child's excitement.

An added thrill to the necromancer's dark heart was the shudder of fear that jerked across Kenobi's taut shoulders at the child's arrival. He knew the Knight had been expecting his master … but the time for Qui-Gon Jinn's use had not yet arrived.

Anakin Skywalker's time, however, _had_ arrived, and here he was, ready to be used, waiting to be filled with dark energy like an empty vessel.

Nagash dropped skeletal fingers to caress Obi-Wan's hair, bone-white digits sliding easily through the ginger strands. He didn't fail to notice the shrewd narrowing of the child's gaze as he watched the scene before him, taking in the enormous warpstone cavern, the jagged throne in the middle of reddened rugs, the man he had once been ordered to show respect to now kneeling submissively near a hulking, twisted mass of crumbling bones and decaying flesh.

The boy took it all in stride, and to Nagash's delighted gaze, a brief look of scorn flashed across the boy's face as he glanced over the crumpled Jedi before moving on in his perusal of the room.

"Leave us, little Jedi," Nagash commanded, almost lazily stroking the short strands at the nape of Obi-Wan's neck. Obi-Wan straightened, and turned defiant eyes on the necromancer.

"No," he said simply. "I will not."

"I will kill you, little Jedi," Nagash said softly, "do not try me." A droll wave to encompass the boy standing a few meters away: "Or perhaps the child? Shall he pay for your refusal?"

Obi-Wan's grey eyes burned defiance and Nagash rumbled delightedly to see the spark still lived in the Jedi despite the infection mercilessly ravaging his system. "I don't think you will," Obi-Wan said quietly. "And I will not leave Anakin alone with you."

"I'll be fine, Obi-Wan," the child spoke up quickly, showing, for the first time, uneasiness at the tension between the two. He seemed unafraid of Nagash - more fascinated than anything - but the idea of harm befalling himself or the Knight did not sit well with him. Obi-Wan's dark gaze shifted to the boy.

"I appreciate your opinion, Anakin," he said dryly, "Thank you." His wary eyes moved back to Nagash, calm, but the necromancer could see the uneasiness and fear for his companion brimming below the surface.

"Indeed," Nagash murmured. "You have an old and brave soul for one so young." It was a falsehood designed to stroke a vulnerable ego, and Nagash allowed a warm shiver of success when he saw pride blossom in the child's eyes.

"Stop it," Obi-Wan muttered gently, and Nagash looked down on him in surprise. "I know what you're doing," The chastising scorn was heavy in the Knight's voice. "And pandering to the ego of a naïve child is beyond reprehensible."

Anakin moved closer defiantly, stepping away from his guards without resistance from them. "I'm not naïve! You're always so jealous, Obi-Wan," he interjected testily. "You'll never admit that I'm stronger than you."

Nagash chuckled delightedly at the suddenly unexpected eye roll from Kenobi; his little Jedi had such _spirit_! "Yes, that's it," Obi-Wan said dryly. "Couldn't be that I'm concerned for your safety, Anakin." He looked back to Nagash. "I'm not leaving," he repeated darkly.

"So be it," Nagash replied in turn. Where they were gently tangled in the hair at the nape of Obi-Wan's neck, Nagash's fingers tightened on pale skin, cold black energy streaming from them to crawl up the Knight's jaw line in a thick wave, suffocating the Jedi from within, climbing higher until it wrapped his darkening pupils in a veil of black. Anakin took one hesitant step forward as Obi-Wan choked helplessly, hands he couldn't lift twitching toward his closing throat, and another step as the Jedi crumpled into a heap at his feet.

"Your friend is loyal, perhaps to a fault," Nagash said as Anakin knelt by Obi-Wan's spasming body, "But we can now speak privately."

"Will he be okay?" Anakin asked, and Nagash was intrigued to discover that he couldn't discern the reason behind the boy's question, the answer he hoped for. Jealousy shrouded Anakin Skywalker like a cursed mantle, dictating his every step, his every thought with achieving what should be his: a proud and respected Master, a loving mother returned to him, the glory and fame that should rightfully accompany the Chosen One.

But Nagash shrugged, utterly uncaring of what the child wanted. All that mattered was that he was firmly in the necromancer's grip now and it was time to move forward. "He has much to do yet," Nagash murmured an affirmative, adding, "He is a great Jedi Knight, and will rise even higher among the Jedi and in the eyes of many admirers."

Another lie designed to provoke the boy, for Nagash had determined that Obi-Wan Kenobi would not leave Etruria. The necromancer smiled as the bright flare of jealousy intensified in the boy's aura; Skywalker relaxed only a fraction after two of Nagash's scraping, slithering servants had gingerly hauled Kenobi's unconscious body out. Obi-Wan's eyes were still open, and Anakin shuddered as he looked into their bottomless black depths as the small procession passed.

"I sense that you also are destined to be great," Nagash announced, "and yet something troubles you, my friend. What is it?"

There was no hesitation in the boy's prompt reply. "I want my master back," Skywalker muttered quietly. "I want the old Qui-Gon back," he explained sorrowfully. "Not stuffy, boring Qui-Gon. And I want him to see that I'm an even better Padawan than Obi-Wan."

It was the truest desire of Anakin's young heart: he wanted strong, defiant Qui-Gon Jinn back, the Qui-Gon that had left Obi-Wan in Theed to fight the Sith while he came to rescue Anakin after the fighter Anakin was obediently hiding in had - completely by accident - taken off from the hangar.

Anakin couldn't have helped that he'd had to do something to save Padmé. It wasn't _**his **_fault the autopilot had kicked in. _**He**_ hadn't been scared. He could have helped. Qui-Gon came to save him, and that put a warm glow in Anakin's heart.

But Obi-Wan had defeated the Sith. Obi-Wan became a Jedi hero. Padmé even gave him a place of honor at the parade. Anakin _**could**_ have been the hero, if only Qui-Gon hadn't jumped in to help. As proud as Anakin had been that Qui-Gon had chosen to save him, he still couldn't help the envy that struggled within him as he quietly watched Obi-Wan stand next to Padmé on the palace steps, watched her smile at him, he smiled back … she was so beautiful …

"Then tonight, proud Jedi, you shall have the honor you deserve," Nagash offered. "We shall feast and drink while you regale us with tales of your exploits. Is this acceptable to you, my young friend?"

"Yes," Anakin agreed immediately, his youthful face alight with joy. "Will Obi-Wan make it?" he wondered curiously and Nagash frowned thoughtfully.

"Obi-Wan is weak, and sick. He spends most of his time in the library to rest and read." He smiled, the crumbling mountains of his broken teeth a jagged, pleased line. "But perhaps we could invite Qui-Gon Jinn?"

OoOoOoOoOo

It was dark when Obi-Wan awoke - or at least, that's what he thought until he realized his eyes were just closed. He huffed a little laugh to himself - _moron_ - and gingerly clambered to all fours, pressing his weak arm into his chest as he gained his knees. He sat there swaying for a moment, waiting for his equilibrium to right itself and he noticed absently that his hand, laying loosely in its sling, was veined in black, thick ebony strokes painted down the length of his forearm. His heart thudding in his chest suddenly, a quick glance at his feet and other arm showed that they too were marbled and Obi-Wan's brow furrowed worriedly: this certainly wasn't good.

He needed to find Anakin. The boy had been too curious, too drawn to the necromancer and Obi-Wan knew that the padawan's presence in Nagashizzar was no accident. And there wasn't much ambiguity in Nagash's claim that Anakin was _the_ boy, so Obi-Wan figured he'd better get to it and find the Chosen One as quickly as possible.

After all, it didn't appear that he himself had much time.

OoOoOoOoOo

I heart reviews as much as I heart Obi-Wan, so that should tell you something! ;D although I do treat reviews better and with less angst, so please leave me a message, I appreciate it!


	15. Eyes Cast Down

**Soooo**_ … _hey. I'm still here! And I'm actually in the process of cleaning this fic up, correcting spelling and grammatical errors and plot gaps such as I find them, and I was going to wait until I was finished to post the next chapter, but honestly, I just got my wireless up again so, screw it, here's the next chapter.

**Brink**

By: Syntyche

**Fifteen: Eyes Cast Down**

The world didn't seem quite right.

Blurred and shadowy at the edges, too warm as heat crawled up his neck to flush his sweat-soaked forehead bright red, Anakin felt sick and dizzy as he slouched back against the cold metal of his high-backed dining chair. He'd been ill before, but it was nothing compared to this, nothing like this feeling of overheated dryness that no amount of cold water drained from the glass in front of him seemed to help in the slightest.

The coolness of the glass as he pressed it against his skin didn't help with the burning swath of fever staking its claim, but right now Anakin would take anything, anything at all that would stop the heat overwhelming him. The Padawan brought a shaking hand up to swipe at his damp hair, swallowing hard against the nausea that surged at the back of his throat.

"Are you well, my young friend?"

The innocent question was spoken in a voice smooth and low and humming; although Anakin had once found its bright praising pleasing and welcoming to his eager ears, now he was unsure _**why**_ he had felt that way. All he could think about was the churning of his stomach, the bitter taste in his mouth, the thick drops of sweat jumping out on his overly-sensitive skin. The worst sunburn he'd ever gotten at home was nothing compared to how hot he felt now, and the cool shade of the inside of Watto's shop seemed like a faraway dream.

"I … "

He couldn't seem to make his heavy tongue wrap around the words his brain meant to say. He was weighted and sluggish, and the fork resting in his curled palm seemed to keep him in place as effectively as the heaviest of chains.

"I … " Anakin tried again, shaking his head a little. The movement did nothing to clear his mind and instead set off a clatter in his brain like Jar Jar tripping over his old toolbox and strewing its contents across the floor. "I don't feel well," he finally said, hoping the words sounded more grown-up than he felt. "I want Qui-Gon," the padawan added slowly, knowing that his master would make sense of all this.

From the other end of the long, shining table, Nagash leaned forward, his bone-white pallor gleaming under the stark lights of the dining hall, his leather armor creaking and twisting around his gnarled, exposed bones. "I hope it is not the food?" he questioned in concern, mellifluous, anxious. "Perhaps it is too rich for your simple Jedi diet to easily adapt to?"

Anakin nodded thickly; sure, that could make sense, he guessed. "I need … " He blinked, rubbed a hand weakly over his sweating forehead, wiped his palms across his breeches. He felt so gross. "I need to … Is Qui-Gon coming soon? You said Qui-Gon was invited … "

"Perhaps we should take you to see Master Obi-Wan?" was the next gentle suggestion put forth by his host, and though it pained Anakin to do so he nodded begrudgingly. The jealous whisper in his head that flared to life when Obi-Wan was around snapped angrily that _of __**course**__ Obi-Wan would be glad to see him in this condition! The Chosen One weak and tired - but still Qui-Gon's favorite!_ - but the boyish child that was often buried beneath layers of bitter anger and newly enforced Jedi decorum reminded Anakin gently that he was being unfair, that Obi-Wan would never treat him that way.

His churlish surliness only made him feel worse and the padawan slid off his velvet-backed chair onto wobbly legs. Suddenly, he very much wanted Obi-Wan's familiar presence; in Qui-Gon's continued absence, Obi-Wan was the next best thing.

A heavy, gauntleted hand on his shoulder grounded him and Anakin drew a few deep breaths of stale air as he fought to steady himself. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to rely on the Force to help him to calm his emotions, and now that it was lacking in the warpstone-entrenched lair of Nagashizzar, its absence was keenly felt. He noticed, only now it seemed, the stench of decay that permeated the air surrounding his host and it choked against his lungs, but the boy was too warmed by the familiarity of the gesture that when Nagash's skeletal fingers gripped his tunic lightly over his shoulder he allowed himself to be propelled forward obediently. They moved deeper into dark halls and Anakin found that unexpected pity flooded his suddenly quaking heart as he realized Obi-Wan had been in this horrible place for days, _weeks_ now.

Suddenly, he very much wanted to see Obi-Wan, wondered why he hadn't done more to stop Nagash from almost killing the Knight right in front of him. But he had been angry, so angry, at Obi-Wan's dismissive words, at his suggestion that Nagash was simply _pandering_ to Anakin's ego to get what he wanted. The memory of Obi-Wan's black, sightless pupils staring into nothingness chewed at him and he quickened his pace.

Anakin realized they were heading for a large set of double doors and he pushed forward, uncaring that Nagash's hand had slipped off his shoulder. He should have been concerned about Obi-Wan from the onset but he'd been too curious, too _enraptured_ by the attention and reverence to see how sick and injured Obi-Wan himself had been, too warmed by the praise he deserved finally being delivered, and now guilt crashed heavily upon him that he may have failed his almost-friend and fellow Jedi. Qui-Gon would most certainly not be pleased.

"Obi-Wan?!" he demanded as he shoved inside the room. Anakin blinked furiously against the sudden onslaught of light after the dark halls, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Once his vision cleared he realized that the library was empty, though there were a few rusty smudges on the rug and a pale book lying open, tattered spine up.

"This is most unfortunate," Nagash rumbled, his startled tone an affectation that finally worked its way into Anakin's brain as suspicious. "As I'm sure you saw, Jedi Kenobi is not himself … at times he wanders the halls looking for whatever apparitions his brain has conjured up and often gets turned around and frightened. We must find him at once for his own safety."

Torn by the prospect of staying at the no-longer entrancing necromancer's side or searching the fortresses' black halls alone, Anakin wavered in indecision: both options were, frankly, pretty scary. "He needs help," Anakin whispered quietly, the Knight's pale, black-veined face bleeding back into his memory. There was only the slightest hesitation in his voice as he admitted aloud, "He needs Qui-Gon or Master Yoda."

"I do not know if the powers of even the Jedi can save your friend," was the answer Anakin's sinking heart received - to think, he had been ruthlessly overjoyed to have Obi-Wan out of their lives and taken away by the natives. "But let us find him and we shall see," Nagash announced plaintively, emerald flames in his eyes burning brightly as he smiled in what was perhaps supposed to be encouraging, and might have been to the padawan if the spell of entrancing hadn't worn away.

"I'll check this way." Reluctantly Anakin struck out on his own, wondering if he'd get lost in the winding darkness of the endless lair hallways while already knowing he wouldn't; he had always been inordinately good at finding his way; a trait that had helped him become one of the best pod racers in the _galaxy_, the ability to pick out the best route after only one lap around the track.

And somehow, amazingly - or through unknown direction at his host's hand - Anakin quickly found Obi-Wan: pale, shaking, and clinging with his good hand to the wall, the jagged edges of his torn fingernails grasping the crumbling rock. Anakin let out a sharp gasp at the Jedi's appearance: Obi-Wan's ashen flesh remained veined in thick snaking tendrils of black, winding beneath his skin and mottling his flesh in dark and white.

"Obi-Wan?" he asked tentatively, reaching out a hand that almost touched the Knight but just barely grazed the sleeve of the other Jedi's loose, borrowed tunic. At his voice Obi-Wan's dark eyes snapped upward disbelievingly.

"Anakin?" he demanded, hopeful yet suspicious. He blinked fiercely in the dim light but his pupils were still shrouded in black and he peered at the padawan, trying to satisfy the rising hope he long knew better than to nourish.

"It's me," Anakin said slowly, somehow not afraid of Obi-Wan while simultaneously terrified by him. "I … I don't feel so great," he admitted, ashamed of his weakness especially when in the presence of one far more battered than he. He remembered how Obi-Wan had disappeared under the mob of angry villagers after Qui-Gon had chosen Anakin to save and he flinched, chastising himself for not being stronger. Qui-Gon was depending on him to get back … and the thought that the hero he would be in Qui-Gon's eyes if he managed to return the lost Knight was not one that he wanted to fade away.

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, breathless but there was strength in his wan voice. "And I imagine I don't look so great," he offered wryly, earning a small smile from the child. "We need to get out of here if we can," he added seriously. "Can you walk?"

Bolstered by the Knight's determination, Anakin straightened his thin shoulders. "I can lead the way," he assured confidently, grabbing the cold skin of Obi-Wan's proffered hand, slightly hoping whatever the Knight had wasn't passed on by touch. Together they moved silently through passages lined with flickering torches. Obi-Wan lagged pitifully and Anakin pulled him along gently, snatches of confused pity suffusing him before falling away when he focused ahead. He tried to keep himself thinking about praise from Qui-Gon and not worry about whether or not Obi-Wan would make it - of _course_ the Knight would.

He cleared his throat: a small sound in the cavernous yet suffocating darkness. "Come on, Obi-Wan," he said quietly, and Obi-Wan lifted his tawny head, a tired grin crossing his face.

"Are we there yet?" he asked humorously and Anakin laughed, for one moment transported back to the start of their trip before all this madness had begun … when being jealous had seemed so much more innocent, when they were all together … when he didn't have to repeatedly try to convince himself that Obi-Wan was going to be okay.

It was, of course, folly to think they could escape Nagashizzar unseen; had Anakin been a little less naïve and Obi-Wan a little less ill, the realization would have immediately occurred to the Jedi, but as it was, they drew up short and swift in surprise when a tall shadow detached itself from the wall to block their staggering escape.

Nagash said nothing, just waited, and the pair of Jedi eyed him warily.

Finally, gripping Anakin's hand, Obi-Wan brushed past the necromancer and Nagash let him pass. The Knight shivered when he heard the whispered, "You will never leave Nagashizzar unless I will it to be, little Jedi," but he pressed on. They were almost out. He didn't allow hope, wouldn't, not even when the black doors came in sight and Anakin's short stride quickened.

"We're almost there, Obi-Wan," the boy urged, tugging the Knight with him. "Come on!"

Anakin found the heavy chain and yanked on it hard and the door swung open, grinding and screeching, and, blinking, stumbling, panting darkness from their lungs, the two Jedi staggered into the weak sunlight - pale and sickly and slow, but the cold filtered light that barely touched the mountainside was enough to lift their spirits and hasten their stride.

They had taken two steps beyond the threshold of Nagashizzar when black fog rolled from the open doorway, coating their ankles in sinuous murk that pulled at their feet and twined around Anakin's boots. A long, drawn out screech heard overhead that drained the blood from their faces followed, harsh and eager.

A quick look was shared, and Anakin was pained to see how pronounced the ebony veins scoring Obi-Wan's face and neck were in the weak sunlight; blinking his black eyes rapidly in the sunshine, Obi-Wan shouted "Go!" and they began to run.

Noise like a hurricane rose behind them as giant wings unfurled, shaking to full length. Obi-Wan knew their owner, had seen the beast flying around the mountain at night. It was not a creature he wished to see up close, and he prayed desperately to the Force that fought to be felt beneath the warpstone's grasp for a burst of strength or an unexpected mercy that they would somehow survive this flight. "Anakin, go!" Obi-Wan shouted desperately. "Run! Run run run!"

Anakin's feet moved sluggishly on the unsteady gravel coating the slope and Obi-Wan scooped him up in the arm that wasn't trapped against his chest. The Knight's breathing was harsh against Anakin's ear but Obi-Wan's steps were steady and determined. Anakin looked over Obi-Wan's shoulder as he clutched the Knight tightly, ashamed to be carried yet desperately safe in the other Jedi's grasp. A huge creature with enormous wings rose from the wall of Nagashizzar, wind furiously beating the earth as its wings flapped and its glittering teeth snapped hungrily.

The sharp black pebbles cut into the soles of Obi-Wan's feet as they ran, focused on getting down the mountain, and Obi-Wan gave a cry as his foot turned on a slice of rock and warm blood spilled over the warpstone. Hastily he put Anakin down and gave him a shove. "Run! We're almost at the wood's edge!" He grasped Anakin's hand again and they ran, but now more dark shapes bled from the mountain, pursing the Jedi relentlessly.

"We're almost there!" Anakin cried, feeling as though, if they could somehow reach the woods and less inhibited use of the Force, they would still escape. Obi-Wan's hand slid out of his and Anakin realized that some kind of projectiles were being hurled at them and the Knight had moved to put himself behind the padawan as a fleshy yet frail barrier.

"Come on!" Anakin reached a hand back to grab Obi-Wan's hand - sling - tunic - _anything _ to help haul the Jedi along, but something struck at rocks at their feet, kicking up a shower of black shards that sprayed outward and dug into exposed flesh. Obi-Wan stumbled and tripped, and did not rise.

"NO!" Anakin screamed in frustration. They were so close! Another screech rolled through the air and the outpouring of creatures chasing them down grew closer and closer, sending terror through the boy's heart.

One last look at the fallen Knight behind him, and Anakin fled.

OoOoOoOoOo

Please review. I would really appreciate it. XD There's a plot. Really. There's just also a lot of Obi-Wan whump. A lot. I mean, more to come. So, yeah, a lot. ;)


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